


Watching Over The Skies - Gold

by Jacen



Series: Watching Over The Skies [1]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aerial Combat, Alternate Universe - Pern Fusion, Alternate Universe - Pernese Dragons, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Riders, F/F, Femslash, Hurt/Comfort, Mating Flight, i promise to tag more as it comes up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8759047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacen/pseuds/Jacen
Summary: Overwatch Weyr, the Weyr at the edge of the world, where Pern sends its outcasts, its freaks, its broken, its disobedient and different to serve far from the exalted heroes of the skies.  Angela of gold Caudeth, formerly of Fort, must learn to navigate the strange new Weyr and it's people.





	1. The Weyr At The Edge Of The World

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my weird little Overwatch/Pern mashup! If you're unfamiliar with Pern, here's a little rundown:
> 
> Pern is an earthlike world circled by a Red Star. The Red Star occasionally orbits closer to the world, and when this happens an organism known as 'Thread' falls. It is awful, all-consuming, acidic and hungry. The primary defenses that the people of Pern have against Thread are the dragons and their kin, the fire lizards and the whers. All dragons and their kin come in five colors: gold, bronze, brown, blue and green. Of these colors, all golds and greens are female, while all bronzes, browns and blues are male. Humans bond with dragons in a process called Impression, and the dragons Impressions trend along sexuality divisions. Heterosexual females tend to bond to gold, heterosexual males tend to bond to bronze, any men can bond to brown, blue and green, and any women can bond to green. Dragons' names end in -th, and most male riders shorten their given names with an apostrophe when they Impress. They combat Thread in the skies, by chewing a phosphorous rock called firestone and breathing fire to burn it before it reaches the ground. Firestone renders female dragons sterile, so gold riders, whose dragons lay clutches and produce the next generation of dragons, generally fight Thread with flamethrowers instead of firestone. The psychic bond between a dragon and their rider is intense and deep-when dragons mate, their riders sleep together as well, and when dragon or rider dies, the other follows them into death. Dragons can also carry their riders between, teleporting them from place to place in an instant.
> 
> Whers, generally non-flying, are colored and bonded in the same way as dragons. They name themselves for their riders, ending in -sk. They combat Thread by eating it when it hits the ground. Fire lizards are about the size of a cat, and bond themselves to whoever feeds them first. They can also chew firestone and flame thread. They are often used as messengers and pets for those who can afford to trade for an egg or who find a nest. 
> 
> Dragons and their riders live in Weyrs, which are locations founded around volcanic caverns. Weyrs are large places, housing dozens of dragons. They generally have a large bowl area, which contains a pen for animals which are fed to the dragons, as well as areas for working on military drill exercises and taking care of dragons. Entrances and exits to the caverns, the place where the support staff of the Weyr live and work, are all over this level, as is the hatching grounds, a volcanically warmed sand cavern in which gold dragons lay and nurture their eggs. There are also infirmaries, mess halls, bathing springs and similar facilities on the lowest level. Higher up are the individual weyrs, where individual or paired dragons live with their riders. 
> 
> If you have any questions or I need to clarify anything, please by all means ask! I am occasionally bad at remembering to explain things!

The wind screamed in the upper reaches of Fort Weyr, but Angela stood firm. Caudeth was her only windbreak, sheltering her from the howling storm. She wanted very much to lean into that great golden shoulder and warm her face on Caudeth’s hide, but that would be showing weakness to the gathered weyrleaders before her. She folded her hands instead, straightened her shoulders and schooled her expression to one of mild disinterest. As much as they enjoyed reminding her she was not like them, Angela was undeniably a Fort goldrider and therefore not inclined to be bullied.

“...effective immediately,” Weyrleader T’Pon was droning on. Just past his shoulder she could see Wingleader J’Tel (technically her weyrmate) grinning at her. She stared back at him. The gloating look faltered in the face of her utter indifference. “Your weyr has been packed for transport, and you are required to provide a list of any absent verifiable personal possessions within a week of your transfer.”

He paused. The gathered riders looked at her, searching for any sign that she was cracking under their pressure. She did not move, did not utter a word. 

“Angela of Gold Caudeth, this is your last opportunity to reconsider your stance and remain at Fort. What is your decision?” Weyrwoman Ramona’s voice was cool, just barely audible under the wind.

Angela looked at her, tried to stare past her similarly impassive eyes, then gave up. “I accept the transfer,” she replied, biting on every word. She wanted to fight to stay, of course. This was her Weyr, her home. It was the place Caudeth was hatched and had clutched. But it was also a place that expected her, rider of a gold dragon, to kneel before the bronze riders that she outranked because she was a woman and they were men. They wanted her to give up healing for paperwork and wing diagrams and babies. They expected her to open her doors (and more) to the rider of whatever bronze Caudeth chose, regardless of how she felt about him. There had to be a better place. 

She looked at J’Tel again, unsurprised to find him sulking mightily. He met her gaze for several breaths as Ramona’s quill scratched on the transfer documents, finalizing this and that. At least wherever they were sending her wouldn’t have J’Tel. Or R’Pan. Or K’Derro. Or...well...all of them. When he looked away, she let herself glance at Ramona’s hands, trying to read upside down where she was being sent. The Weyrwoman’s chicken scratch handwriting was indecipherable. She watched the order packet as it was folded and bound, then handed to T’Pon. 

“As of this moment you are officially transferred to Overwatch Weyr,” Ramona announced. Angela’s startled blink earned a very slight tilt of the older woman’s lips. “Safe journey.”

Angela inhaled deeply, then turned and grabbed the straps on Caudeth’s shoulders, kicking her boot into the stirrup and hauling herself into the saddle. She pulled down her goggles as her eyes welled with tears, covering them just in time. Overwatch. The Weyr at the edge of the world. Home to the dredges of the dragonriders, the worthless and the broken. There was no returning from Overwatch once you were sent to them. 

She heard the murmur of conversation rising behind her, and as Caudeth prowled to the edge and launched them into the sky, a bellow of J’Tel’s laughter followed after. Angela forced herself to tune them out, tucked her knees, and let Caudeth take them to the weyr they’d once called home.

\-------------

Oxtoth stretched one wing over Lena’s face, shading her from the late afternoon sun. Guard duty at Overwatch Weyr was a joke. No one wanted in. They had barely anything worth stealing. Anyone who left was going to come back sooner rather than later. Threadfall wasn’t due for another sevenday. Lena reached up and scratched at Oxtoth’s wing joint, grinning when the little green crooned with contentment. 

“Gonna have a right feast tonight,” Lena said aloud. Her dragon arched her neck and regarded the herdbeast pen with a critical eye. “Nah,” Lena responded to the unasked question. “We’re fit to go hunting, luv. Leave the beasts for those who can’t.” Oxtoth grumped at her wordlessly, curving her neck towards Lena’s hand. Her eyes whirled green and blue when her rider scratched at her nose, and she made a noise of contentment. 

A sudden downdraft presaged the arrival of the Talon Hold messenger from between. Amelie wore her usual all-encompassing leathers, making no indication of discomfort even in the Southern heat. Her dragon, blotchy blue Lacroith, settled just to the side of the reclining lookouts. His rider did not step down-she never did, if she could help it-but instead made an imperious gesture in Lena’s direction. 

“I know whatcha look like under that helmet, innit,” Lena commented as she pushed her green’s wing aside and stood. “In case you forgot.”

Amelie was silent, already holding out a sheaf of paperwork in Lena’s direction. Lena imagined that under the helmet she was rolling her eyes. “What’s his lordship need now,” the greenrider asked, snatching away the papers and tugging the laces holding them closed. Lacroith backed away, Amelie still silent on his back. When Lena had the packet opened, the blue leapt into the sky once more, bearing his silent rider away to wherever they were expected next. 

Back at Telgar, opening the Weyrleaders mail was an excellent way to earn yourself docked pay and an assignment to a lower wing. The consequences hadn’t stopped her then, and in this Weyr of lax rules and dodgy discipline it would practically be a crime not to do it. Lena thumbed through the orders, leaning against Oxtoth’s flank as the dragon craned her neck to watch Lacroith soar to the west. There were the usual maneuvers, a few chits suggesting they might actually get some real wine in the next sevenday and lastly a hefty transfer packet. Filing away the less important stuff for later, Lena unfolded the personnel record of the newest Overwatch member, arching an eyebrow at the stylized goldrider knot at the top of the page. 

“Well, rumour mill has been pretty thin of late,” she said with a grin, shoving the paperwork into her jacket as she clambered into her straps. “This oughta liven things up. Let’s see if we can make it home before the new recruit does.”

\-------------

It was apparent as they glided around the mountain that they were late. Overwatch Weyr’s entire paltry population of dragons was out on their ledges and a crowd had gathered around the trio of riders at the very edge of the flat plain that functioned as the Weyr’s central bowl. A gold sat proudly between two bronzes, her wings close against her sides. Her rider sat straight backed, fully masked and armored. Lena came in for a landing alongside the trio of outsider dragons, Oxtoth giving a quick flourish of her wings as she set foot on the ground. The bronzes shifted uncomfortably away from her, but the gold held fast. 

“This must be your messenger with the papers?” The taller of the two foreign riders said once the commotion of Lena’s arrival had died down. She dismounted, pulling the paperwork out of her jacket and giving him a long look over. He was thin, northern in the face and southern in the body. His leathers were highly polished and his rank knot looked like it had been freshly tied that morning. The crest on his sleeve told the rest of the story-Fort Weyr. It hardly crossed Lena’s mind not to stare. She waved the papers at him, then turned to the assembled weyrfolk, looking for the intended recipient. 

“Fresh off his lordships desk,” she called, and the crowd parted to admit their Weyrwoman through. Only Lena heard the strangled sound the bronzerider made at the sight of Zarya, and her grin became a little sharper. The northerners hated even thinking of the Overwatch Weyrwoman. Seeing her in the flesh was probably giving them Perns quietest heart attacks. She stood a full head taller than most of the other ‘folk, with chiseled features that looked right out of the old stories. She had more bulk to her than most of the men, and since her exile to the south she’d forgone the pretence of long hair that the northerners favoured. Her hair was cut short, reddened and styled with mud.

She stopped short of the other riders, ignoring the queen and holding out a hand to Lena. The messenger shoved the dishevelled sheaf of paper into her palm, then stepped deferentially aside. Zarya looked over the paperwork, grunting a few times in approval, then folded it up and tossed it back to Lena. “Angela of Gold Caudeth,” she said, turning towards the gold and her rider. “Welcome to your new Weyr.” There was a murmur in the crowd, which quickly died as they waited for the other woman's reply.

Astride Caudeth’s neck, Angela slowly tipped her head down to look at the giantess who’d come forward to welcome her. She’d heard the cautionary tale that had exploded across Pern after Zarya’s Weyrlinghood-she had fed firestone to her queen in secret, and as a result the dragon was sterile. Her banishment had been the shame of Igen, and every gold rider had come under intense suspicion for some time afterwards. Angela had conjured a different image of the woman entirely, and seeing her now emphasized all the ways it didn’t fit. The Weyrwoman before her was confident to the point of smugness, and there was sharp intelligence in eyes Angela had expected to be dull with stupidity. She was broad and tall and pretty, not one whit as lazy and dowdy as she had been described. Angela unbuckled herself from her straps, then climbed to the ground. 

_Aleksath’s says you should not be alarmed, Mine, but that she can hear me. She can hear all of her weyr,_ Caudeth said conversationally. Angela was happy her goggles and helmet were still on, else she would have gaped in shock. A gold rider and one who could speak with any dragon? _Aleksath’s wishes to know if you are the Master Healer who Impressed at Fort._

Angela’s cheeks burned under her face shield. So Zarya was one of those who got directly to the point. A good thing to know. _Tell her I am, Caudeth,_ she replied, watching Zarya as the gold relayed the message. The massive Weyrwoman smirked, then she held out a hand to Lena again. The paperwork was returned to her, and Zarya pulled out the last sheet. She dug into a pocket of her leathers, producing a short chunk of graphite, and scrawled her mark on the bottom of the page. The writing tool was stowed again as she strode towards the bronzeriders, shoving the paper against the tall one’s chest. He stumbled backwards, then grabbed the paper and shoved it into a pocket on his belt. “Leave her things. Go back to Fort,” Zarya said bluntly. 

The bronzeriders stared for a moment, clearly unused to being dismissed so abruptly. The taller man seemed to consider an objection, then thought better of it and stepped back towards his dragon. “Be well, Angela,” he said, a little louder than necessary. She didn’t look at him as the two men deposited her possessions on the ground. Her dismissal was met with a grunt of anger as they climbed into their straps and prepared their dragons to leave. 

“Bye!” Lena called as the duo took off, waving after them. The rest of the weyrfolk were silent, watching the tall Weyrwoman or the new arrival expectantly. Zarya watched until the bronzes had slipped between, then turned towards Angela. 

“Welcome to Overwatch Weyr,” she rumbled, holding out one hand. 

Angela considered the handshake, then nodded to herself and accepted. Though it seemed likely that she could crush Angela’s hand if she wanted to, Zarya’s handshake was professionally firm. “Thank you.”

“Come. We will talk. Your things will go to your weyr.” 

Angela hesitated again, but Caudeth’s eyes whirled green and her thoughts were reassuring. _Aleksath’s is troubled,_ the dragon observed mildly, _and I am hungry_. Angela sighed, then removed her helmet. “Lead on,” she said to Zarya. As she followed the broad Weyrwoman along the bowl, Caudeth took off towards the herdbeast pens.

\-------------

The sparseness of Zarya’s weyr was welcome. It reminded Angela of her own penchant for organization and order. The space was larger than she expected, though half of it was occupied by a worktable supporting a massive piece of machinery. It looked like one of the flamethrowers the goldriders up north trained with, but five times larger. Angela wanted to question the Weyrwoman about it, but chose to remain silent as Zarya finished greeting Aleksath. The massive, scarred gold dragon was settled on the ledge outside of the weyr, sunbathing blissfully as her rider and Angela made their way inside. 

Angela did not ask before she settled into a seat next to the Weyrwoman’s desk-churlish and rude, yes, but Zarya’s response would tell her plenty about the woman. What she got was an arched eyebrow, then a groaning sigh as Zarya took up the wide, cushioned chair that was clearly her own. “You have questions,” Zarya stated. “Do we start with me, or with Weyr?”

Frowning, Angela folded her hands. “The Weyr. Tell me about it.”

Zarya nodded sharply, pulling a tray holding two mugs and a pitcher of water across the desk to herself. “Hm. Is small, much smaller than Fort,” she began as she poured, setting the first mug in front of Angela. “Twenty eight dragons. Is two queens-three with you-two bronze, five brown, eight blue, eleven green. One hundred and fifty-eight weyrfolk. We have no harper, twelve healers, one weaver, one tanner, four smiths. Some of the riders were crafters once. There is a list.” She poured herself a mug. “Talon Hold is west. Technocrafter hall is south.”

Angela’s eyebrow rose. “Technocrafter?”

Zarya sipped from her mug, her head bobbing in a nod. “One of the weyrfolk found a cave full of strange things several years ago, like the one in the north. She has been studying it since then. Some of the others go too. They say they are technocrafters now.” She gestured to the flamethrower with her mug. “They build things like this from the machines in the cave. Is very exciting.”

“Do you use it?” Angela tried to imagine anyone wielding the enormous thing in front of her while atop a dragon. Even for a woman of Zarya’s size, that would be a feat. 

“Yes. Every Fall.” Zarya chuckled. “Aleksath flames one way, I flame the other. We are good team.” She looked past Angela, affection warming her expression as she gazed at the hall that would lead to her gold dragon dozing on the ledge. There was a distant grunt and shuffle as the gold adjusted her wings.

“So...she does breathe fire.” Angela fidgeted with her mug, a dozen followup questions pressing at her.

Zarya looked back towards Angela, setting her mug aside. “Yes. No eggs. We fly a whole Fall with the wing. She rises once every four years.” That was everything Angela was about to ask, except one thing. The most important question and likely one Zarya was tired of answering.

“Why did you do it?” Angela set the mug on the desk. To be a goldrider was to be one of the most powerful people on Pern. Prestige, respect, the loyalty of a Weyr...giving that up intentionally made little sense.

Zarya smiled, not the great grin of earlier but a small, secretive twist of the lips. “I wanted brown. Blue. Green. A fighting dragon. I wanted to be strong.” She waved the mug in the direction of the ledge, slopping some water onto the stone floor. “I Impressed her. At first was okay. Some laughed, because I was Weyrbred, big girl, tough. Others…”. She rolled a shoulder, then tapped the scar that marked just above her eye. “Thought they were bigger. Tougher. Wanted me to know I was just a girl. Wanted me to understand that they were men.” The smile turned savage. “There were many disciplinary meetings. I knew it would not stop. Other gold riders would not foster me. Men made faces behind their hands in the hall. Other weyrlings told one another about how disgusting I was, how they felt sorry for the bronze who flew Aleksath. Drudges talked back to me, worse than when I was a brat. So I thought, maybe I will see if firestone hurts Aleksath. If it does not, if she understands why we must do this, what could be the harm?”

Angela’s eyebrow rose skeptically. “You were fourteen, you-.”

“I knew what I was doing,” Zarya said firmly. “I am a dragonrider. I am from the weyr. I knew what I was doing. Did you, when you heard Caudeth call to you?” The Weyrwoman watched Angela's cheeks redden until the other woman looked away. “No. You didn’t. I gave Aleksath the firestone, little bits, what I could smuggle in between drills. Then bigger pieces. And then one day, in drill...fire.” The chuckle this time was dark. “I will never forget those screams. I was sent to the barracks. The dragon healers came, then the Weyrleader and the Weyrwoman. There was much yelling. They sent a messenger to Ana, and she came to get me.” 

“You did it because they were cruel to you."

Zarya nodded. “And because it would not have stopped. So I am here now. Aleksath is strong, breathes fire, fights Thread. I am strong, I lead the Weyr. It is a worthy life for a dragonrider, no matter what the northerners say.”

Angela looked into her cup and tried to imagine Caudeth high in the upper wings, fighting thread and flaming with the rest of the dragons of the weyr. The picture didn't fit. “Do you require queens to chew firestone here?” She asked, remembering the threadscores on Aleksath’s hide. Caudeth was unblemished. Angela’s gut clenched at the idea of her seared by Thread. 

“No,” Zarya answered. “If you want to, we will not say no. You have not trained like we have trained. It would be dangerous for you. I do not want you flying with the wings. You are a Masterhealer, no matter how long it has been since you wore the knot. We need that, more than we need an untrained fighting dragon.”

Angela’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Let me show you,” Zarya answered, rising and escorting Angela into the Weyr’s hallways.

\-------------

In a larger Weyr, the dining hall would have been a great regimented affair, with long tables and benches. At Overwatch it was a large space populated by a wide variety of chairs, couches and tables of all shapes and sizes. Many looked roughly constructed, and those of better craftsmanship seemed much older than the rest. A handful of people were scattered throughout the room, quietly working on paperwork or eating a late meal, though the arrival of Zarya and the new queen rider caused most to look up from their various occupations. Those with riders knots gave half wave-half salutes to their Weyrwoman, then went back to their business. 

“J’Cree,” Zarya called, scanning along the couches pushed into one corner. A heap of blankets rustled, then a face cautiously emerged. 

“Yes’m,” the face drawled sleepily. “I know i’m not supposed to be sleeping out here, but I just finished up butchering for the kitchen and I really needed a nap.”

Zarya shook her head. “Is not a problem today. This is the new queen rider. Show her your arm.”

The young rider’s expression shifted from drowsy to suspicious in an instant. He clutched the blanket tighter around himself as he sat up, then pushed it aside. One of his arms was scored from wrist to shoulder, painful looking scars disappearing under the short tunic he was wearing. The other was simply gone at the elbow, the skin above the missing limb a mass of angry red whorls.

“Many of my riders have bad injuries, but I think they are not weak. I think they can still fight, if they see a healer who is skilled enough to make them whole.” Zarya walked to the riders side as she spoke. J’Cree watched intently as Angela tilted her head, studying his arm with interest. “I do not expect miracles. But I think you can help them. There is nothing to lose trying. It will be good work for you.”

Angela moved closer, holding out a hand towards the riders mangled limb. He considered for a moment, then lifted the stump so she could see. “It’s been about half a turn,” he said as she hovered her fingers over the scarring. “Still hurts every day. That’s why they sent me here.”

She frowned, a treatment plan already forming. It was like stretching a muscle that hadn’t been used for some time. “I think I can help you,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Once I have a weyr...and once I meet the other healers.” She glanced at Zarya. “If that’s acceptable.”

The Weyrwoman nodded sharply. “We will go. Dismissed, J’Cree.”

Angela followed Zarya out of the mess hall, watching the young rider over her shoulder as they went.


	2. The Wingleader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling into a new Weyr means meeting new people. Angela meets Wingleader Fareeha and things get complicated.

Work made the transition easier. Angela had expected to spend days learning names and wing assignments and uselessly slouching around her weyr when she’d first arrived. Instead she woke every day to a fresh jug of klah and a list of appointments tacked to her door. Her mornings were spent in the infirmary, talking to riders and cataloguing their injuries. Her afternoons went towards working with Caudeth and studying Zarya’s extensive notes on Overwatches functions. She tried to make it to the largest evening meal shift every night and by the end of the sevenday she was receiving a warm reception from her new comrades. 

She felt useful in a way she never had at Fort, where queen riders were barred from working too much in any one crafting area and her days had been consumed with meetings and paperwork. The riders of Overwatch welcomed her healing, frequently forgetting the formalities of rank when they were in her secondary office in the infirmary. She had initially tried to remind them, but it was a losing battle. Now she found herself answering to Angie as often as Angela.

There was one person who persisted in calling her Angela-Fareeha of brown Raptorath, the Wingleader and closest Overwatch had to a weyrleader until Aleksath rose again. She’d met the woman on her second day. Fareeha had accompanied J’Cree to his assessment, and Angela had made the immediate faux pas of not looking at Fareeha’s knot before requesting that J’Crees ‘weyrmate’ wait outside. Plenty of riders would have chastised her, gold or no gold, but Fareeha had simply given her a measured look and seated herself very deliberately off to one side. 

Now it was the wingleader’s turn to be examined. Nothing in her record suggested more than a few threadscores but Zarya had apparently included her for completeness’ sake. Angela set out everything she would need well in advance. If she was quick, she could probably minimize her chances of insulting the woman again. She was just making sure her pen was in working order when the sound of boots on stone heralded the arrival of the wingleader.

Fareeha was clearly fresh off of her dragon. She smelled like the cold air of the heights and her face still had some marks from her helmet and facemask. She stepped into the examining area with a curt nod to Angela, immediately stripping off her flight jacket and discarding it on the seat of Angela’s chair. “Junior Weyrwoman,” she said, her bindings and undershirt following the jacket. Angela blinked at how quickly the rider was removing her clothing, holding up a hand as Fareeha tugged her boots off. 

“Not so fast,” Angela said. “I mean...you can disrobe now, of course, but I have some questions to ask and then I will do the exam.”

“Oh.” Fareeha considered, then resumed taking off her clothes. Angela pulled a sheet out from under the bed, looking in another direction as she offered it to the nude woman. Fareeha took it, draping it over her shoulders and sitting on the edge of the table. When Angela turned back towards her, expression still bemused at Fareeha’s utter indifference to her own nudity, the brownrider tilted her head slightly. “I thought you were a healer? Is this really so unusual?”

Angela chuckled nervously, keeping her eyes on Fareeha’s face. “Yes,” she answered, reaching out to tip Fareeha’s face up towards the light. “I was raised in the Healers Hall. Oddly, not very much nudity there,” she said, studying the riders eyes, nose and jaw. “Follow the pen with your eyes. Do not turn your head.”

“You’ve been a dragonrider for twenty turns,” Fareeha said, watching the pen. “That hasn’t changed your outlook?” 

Angela raised an eyebrow. It was good to know that the leadership at Overwatch wasn’t as lazy as she’d been lead to believe. Both Zarya and Fareeha had clearly read her paperwork. “I haven’t gotten used to how casual weyrborn are, no,” she admitted. “You were raised in the creche?” She ticked boxes and made notes, then straightened. 

“I was,” Fareeha said. Angela consulted her checklist, compared it to Fareeha’s existing records, then set both aside. 

“You’ve had firehead and pox?” Angela tapped a scar on Fareeha’s arm. The wingleader nodded. “Alright. Lay down.”

Fareeha shrugged off the sheet and lay down on the examination table as Angela washed her hands. When she turned back towards the other woman, Angela took a long look at her. Fareeha was the very picture of an ideal dragonrider, well-muscled and lean. Her dark skin was smooth aside from a set of old threadscores that ran along her left leg. The wounds had completely healed from the look of them, leaving only ugly scars that didn’t impede Fareeha’s movement. Her musculature was defined, but not starkly obvious. She took good care of herself, with a degree of obvious dedication Angela admired.

“...Angela?” She looked up. Fareeha was watching her warily.

“How old are your scars?” Angela asked, her eyes skipping away.

“Five turns. It was a glancing strike, I went between before it dug in too deep.” When Angela looked back at her, Fareeha was staring at the ceiling, her jaw tight. Just like that she had offended the wingleader again. She shut her mouth, determined to finish the examination as quickly as she could. 

With careful hands, Angela checked Fareeha’s throat, arms and wrists. She touched her hips, then pressed on her belly. Next she ran her fingers over her knees, then her ankles, avoiding the scars entirely. When she was done, she washed her hands again. “You can get dressed,” she said over her shoulder. Turning back, she felt warmth spring to her cheeks at the sight of Fareeha fixing her belt on her hips. “Oh!” she exclaimed. The brownrider turned towards her, picking up her chest binding.

“Was there something else?” Fareeha’s expression was still cautious, her eyes darting away from Angela’s immediately. She focused instead on pulling on her boots.

“I meant to ask if you’d had children,” Angela said, picking up her pen and looking at Fareeha expectantly. The stunned look she got in return did not bode well.

“No,” Fareeha answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. She picked up her flight jacket and pulled it on, bundling up her undershirt and bindings in one hand. “Is that it?” Now she wouldn’t look at Angela at all, her jaw working as she stared down and to the side.

“That’s all,” Angela replied. Fareeha nodded sharply, then turned on her heel and strode out of the infirmary. Angela sighed, rapping herself across the forehead with the wingleader’s medical records. 

\-------------

The biggest downside to life in the South was the heat. Angela found herself constantly soaking with sweat, which meant she spent more than the usual amount of time in the baths. She was letting the heat loosen up her muscles in the back edge of the women's pool on the morning of her eighth day, pondering her last few medical consultations, when footsteps drew her out of her thoughts. Lena, the weyr messenger, was just depositing her towel and sandals on the bench by the entryway. Angela had never seen her out of her weyr so early. She raised a hand in greeting. 

“Good morning Lena,” she called. The greenrider yelped, looking through the steam until she saw the waving arm.

“Scared me halfway between, Angie,” Lena said, tossing her robe down next to her towel. Until that moment, Angela had wondered why Zarya considered the perky messenger such a high priority for a medical evaluation. As Lena padded to the edge of the pool, the light of the bathing room caught on a palm-sized scar between her breasts. It looked old, but a wound that size could not have been something minor. Lena slipped into the water, blocking her view of the scar as she dove under and resurfaced near Angela. Though she was grinning as usual, her eyes kept skipping back to the door.

“Are you expecting someone?” Angela blushed, sinking to her neck in the water. She’d been a rider for years and yet she still hadn’t quite adapted to the weyrborn’s total disregard for privacy, especially where sex was concerned. “I can go.”

Lena swiped a fingerful of soapstone from the bowl next to the pool, then started working it through her hair. “Nah, yer alright. Just...jumpy.”

Brow furrowing, Angela took a closer look at Lena. Her pupils were dilated, her skin flushed. When she moved it was with great caution, as though she was balancing something precious. Reaching out to Caudeth she asked, _Is Oxtoth alright?_

 _She glows,_ Caudeth answered. Angela took a reflexive step away from Lena in the pool. _She will rise soon._ The greenrider noticed Angela’s maneuver and rolled her eyes.

“Just figured it out?” Lena asked, dunking her head again and scrubbing out the soap. “Not like Caudeth’s going to fly her. I think you’re probably safe, luv.” She turned to the door again.

“I was wondering why you were up so early.” Angela straightened up, grabbing some of her own sweetsand and scrubbing at her shoulders. Lena turned back, her eyes skipping directly from Angela’s face to stare at her chest. Angela backed away again, sinking into the water. “Lena. Are you certain you’re alright? Shouldn’t you be in your weyr?”

Lena blinked. “Nah. I mean yeah. I’m alright. Just...waiting for someone.”

Angela frowned. “Your weyrmate?” She couldn’t recall anyone standing out as Lena’s weyrmate-the sprightly young rider rarely sat with the same people twice at meals, and she spent most of her time out on the western edge of the bowl. The way the greenriders eyes dodged back to the door suggested that it was likely more complicated than that. 

“Just someone.” Lena splashed water on her own face. “It’ll be soon. Betcha anything.”

Angela considered the red tips of Lena’s ears and the way her nostrils flared, guessing that the flight had already been considerably delayed. On one hand she was impressed that the messenger had such self control. On the other, holding back for too long could have serious repercussions. “I can walk you back to your weyr,” Angela offered, putting a hand on Lena’s shoulder. The greenrider immediately plunged her face into the water, wrapping her arms around herself as she resurfaced.

“Can’t do that to a girl, Angie. Gimme some warning, yeah?” Lena said, shuddering as she took a few steps away. Angela was about to apologize when the greenrider straightened and shoved her hand into her hair. “Thank Faranth. She’s here.”

They were both still for a moment, deciding what to do, then Lena began to wade to the edge of the pool. She hoisted herself out and stalked to her towel, wrapping it around her body and shoving her feet into her sandals. Angela was just leaving the water herself when Lena sagged against the wall, murmuring ‘blood, blood, blood,’ over and over again. Confirming with Caudeth that Oxtoth was blooding a kill, Angela pulled on her own robe and shoes, then approached the greenrider with one hand outstretched. “Take my hand. I’ll lead you to your weyr,” Angela said firmly, catching the arm that Lena flailed in her direction. “Tell me when she takes off.”

Lena nodded, lost in her dragon and her control over Oxtoth’s hungers. When she blinked and seemed to partially recover herself, she squeezed Angela’s hand. “She’s up. Better hurry.”

They made it halfway before Lena began to stumble in her confusion between flying and walking. Angela didn’t ask this time-she hoisted the slight rider into her arms and carried her onwards. Just as it started to seem like they would never arrive, Angela rounded the final corner and stopped in Lena’s doorway. Four riders waited inside and Angela looked each of them over as she set the whimpering greenrider on her feet.

At the far end of the room, tucked in a corner, stood a tall, lean rider in full gear. A long plait hung over their shoulder and they were still as they watched Lena lean against the doorframe to catch her breath. Angela could feel the heat of the room rise as the chasing dragons overhead dove and climbed after Oxtoth. To the right, two wingriders had half-perched on Lena’s desk. One was skinny and blonde, all whippy muscle, missing a fair chunk of his leg. Angela recalled clearing him for flight the previous day-with the aid of a special stirrup, he would be just as agile on his blue as any other rider. Next to him was J’Cree, studiously avoiding the goldriders penetrating gaze by staring at the floor. 

The last was Fareeha, standing tall and strong next to the door. When Lena wavered in place, the wingleader held out a hand to steady her. Angela stepped carefully between them, extracting Lena’s hand from Fareeha’s and urging the greenrider to take the last few steps to the bed. The wingleaders dark eyes followed every movement, her heated look moving from Lena to Angela once the former was seated comfortably. Now the goldrider felt the blush on her face and the slight breeze that suggested her robe wasn’t as closed as she thought it was. She pulled it tighter and began to back away, breathing through the flight lust as it settled heavily on her.

It was nowhere near as intense as one of Caudeth’s flights. She could still walk away. Back to her own weyr. Take care of the problem herself. Taking deep breaths, she watched as the armoured rider stepped out of the corner and towards the bed. In her minds eye she imagined what was happening overhead, the dragons rising higher and higher over the weyr. Lena reached out one hand in the direction of the approaching rider, breathed what sounded like a name. Angela became very aware of her own pulse as she looked from J’Rat to J’Cree and then to Fareeha. To her shock, the wingleader was still watching her. Their eyes locked and Angela was suddenly sweltering. 

In the distance, above the weyr, there came a triumphant bugle. It was immediately echoed in Lena’s cry. Angela looked to the bed, saw Lena push the helmet off of the strange rider’s head, caught a glimpse of skin the colour of a bruise, then Fareeha loomed across her vision. 

Their eyes met again. The brownrider exhaled harshly and hunched her shoulders, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked powerful, all muscle and authority. The angles of her face, the rise of her chest, the tilt of her hip made Angela feel overheated. Angela drew a shaky breath, thoughts already going hazy with the residual need of the flight. It had been so long since Caudeth last rose, since she last took someone to bed. Of course she could leave but she was already wondering what bedding a woman would be like, especially one as strong as Fareeha. What would those hands feel like on her skin? What did she taste like? 

The pause between them felt like an eternity, then Angela lunged forward and grabbed the front of Fareeha’s tunic with both hands. The taller woman was already bending to kiss her-she continued leaning as their mouths met, sliding her hands along the backs of Angela’s thighs, then lifting her. Angela was accommodating. She wrapped her legs around the other woman's waist, kissing her hungrily. Fareeha tasted like klah and wine and Angela didn’t realize they were moving until Fareeha broke away from her mouth. She nudged her way under Angela’s chin and began working her lips along her neck, staggering them along the hall. 

Angela was just about to ask where they were going when Fareeha made a sharp turn and shouldered open a weyr door. She let it fall shut behind them, then pressed Angela back against it. One hand slid between them, pushing the robe aside, and Angela moaned out loud at the feeling of fingers on her skin. It had been almost a whole turn since she’d allowed someone to touch her so intimately and that deprivation coupled powerfully with the effects of her closeness to the flight. She wanted more and it was clear the sentiment was shared when Fareeha’s hips pressed insistently between her legs. Angela tipped her head down to meet the brownriders eyes, finding her asking a silent question. Her fingers trailed along Angela’s thigh, pausing just short of her heated core. Angela’s body pulsed in response, her need suddenly mightier than any other time she cared to remember. 

“Now,” Angela groaned, pulling the other woman closer with arms and legs alike. “Now,” she repeated as those long, rough fingers stroked through her soaking folds. Her hips rocked with the motion, words slipping away from her as Fareeha bent her head to her breast and pressed kisses to the soft skin. Angela’s fingers threaded into Fareeha’s hair, holding her close as she whimpered encouragement. The level of control the brownrider was capable of was incredible-Angela had expected to be manhandled, but Fareeha was being as gentle as she could considering the circumstances. 

When those teasing fingers paused at Angela’s entrance, she dug her heel into Fareeha’s backside. “More,” she moaned. “Please. Please more.” She didn’t know what she was asking for, what a woman could do that a man couldn’t, but Fareeha pressed two fingers inside of her and she gasped in response. The brownrider raised her head from Angela’s breast and Angela immediately dragged her into a kiss. Those fingers began to move inside of her, coaxing her hips into a rhythm. Gasping for air, Angela craned her neck back. “Bigger,” she whined, not sure if that was even possible, but on the next thrust Fareeha slid a third finger inside of her and she thought she might come apart in that very moment. 

It did not take much more. Fareeha’s thumb made contact with her clit, previously only grazed in passing. Angela shouted half of the oaths she knew as her body clamped down around her fingers. She was entirely unprepared for the intensity of the orgasm, clawing into Fareeha’s neck and slamming the back of her own head into the door. She may have screamed, she certainly moaned, and only came back to herself when her thighs quivered too hard to keep herself locked around the other womans body. She dropped to her feet, yanking Fareeha’s mouth back to hers to keep herself standing.

“Bed?” the brownrider smiled into the kiss, and Angela nodded. She felt ablaze, still throbbing with need from the flight and the orgasm, wanting to touch as she had been touched and return the favor she’d been granted. Angela let the robe fall once she was standing, draping one arm around Fareeha’s neck. She would not release Fareeha from the kiss, and so let herself be backed towards the sleeping pallet. When the backs of her knees connected with the bed, she fisted her fingers into Fareeha’s tunic to make certain she wouldn’t pull away.

She still did not know what to do as Fareeha pushed her onto her back, but skin was all she could think of. She pulled on the shirt, panting when Fareeha pulled away from the kiss to strip it off. Her hands rubbed along Fareeha’s stomach, her original intent to push off Fareeha’s pants. She hooked one thumb into the fabric and began to push it away, but the other she slid between skin and linen. She followed the sensation of heat and moisture between Fareeha’s legs, shuddering as the other woman did when she rubbed her hand over her damp curls. 

She leaned up, kissing what she could reach of the taller woman as she ran her fingers over Fareeha’s sex. Using how she had been touched as a guide, she delved her hand deeper, feeling for wetness with a gentle hand. She didn’t notice that Fareeha had gone still until she tried to take another kiss and found herself looking into an expression of awe and surprise. “Is this alright?” She murmured huskily, pressing again and trying a circle with her middle finger. Fareeha’s hips rolled in time. 

“Yes,” the other woman answered, hooking one hand into her pants and shoving them off of her body. She pushed her thigh between Angela’s when she resumed her position. Angela leaned up to lick her neck, repeating the circle, and Fareeha’s hips ground down towards her. The brownrider descended further, passing by Angela’s kiss to nibble on her ear. Supporting herself on one arm, she slid her hand between Angela’s legs again. Her confident touch drove Angela to distraction and the hand that had been kneading Fareeha’s hip clawed along her back. 

Their rhythm began uncertain, Angela trying to find the right spots while Fareeha ruined her concentration over and over again. When she finally found her pace, she was rewarded by an arch of Fareeha’s back, the muscle of her arm shaking with exertion. Fareeha’s fingers sank deep into her again, and Angela sobbed with her overwhelming need. When Fareeha began to rock her hips, grinding her thigh between Angela’s legs and pinning Angela’s hand in place against her core, the goldrider was lost once again. This was better than any of her own flights, the green’s flight lust driving her harder than ever before. None of the bronzeriders had Fareeha’s knowledge and talent, proven once again when the woman curled her fingers and pressed something deep inside of Angela that made her squirm. Their lips weren’t as soft, they had never felt so connected as Angela did to Fareeha with every thrust. 

Fareeha loomed over her again. Her angle shifted, and now she struck that spot with every move she made. Angela’s toes gripped the furs and she doubled her own efforts, sliding her hand up and down and feeling the fine trembling beginning in Fareeha’s thighs. “Kiss me,” she whimpered, and the brownrider immediately obliged. She felt her heat build, grasping wildly at the back of Fareeha’s neck. Every thrust, every grind seemed to stop her heart until finally she felt a slick thumb flick across her clit just as three fingers stroked firmly along her inner walls and she was lost. Angela was dimly aware of Fareeha stiffening over her, her hips pumping against Angela’s hand, but that was quickly swept away by the rush of exultation that overtook her. 

\-------------

When Angela awoke, she was laying on her side on the sleeping platform, her face buried in a pillow. She was wearing a thin tunic and the bed furs were draped across her body. Her thighs ached. Her fingers were stiff. Day had turned to night, and the glow baskets were uncovered. With a careful hand, she reached behind her, then in front of her, seeking out whoever might be in bed with her. Finding no one, she cautiously raised her head. 

Fareeha was asleep on a large chair next to the desk. The brownrider’s bare legs emerged akimbo from under the fur she had wrapped around her body, and her head was tilted over the back of the chair. A jug of klah sat cold on the desk with two mugs alongside it. Stomach roiling with sudden nervousness, Angela lay her head back on the pillow as she considered what to do next. She had let flight lust carry her to a woman’s bed. A brownrider and a Wingleader, but still a woman. She carefully adjusted the neck of the tunic. Should she grab a drink, then hurry off? Stay and chat awkwardly? She’d never been so swept up in a green flight before. The etiquette of flights wasn’t her strongest suit. As a queen rider, she usually just ordered the bronzerider whose dragon had flown Caudeth to leave as soon as she woke up. This was different. She had chosen this. 

There was a knock at the weyr door, and Fareeha awoke with a start. Angela half-closed her eyes as the brownrider shrugged off the furs and rolled out her neck. Fareeha wore her breeches and a thoroughly wrecked undershirt under the blanket. Once she had stretched, she ambled across the weyr, shoving her hair back with one hand as she kicked aside Angela’s robe and opened the door. She greeted the drudge there, then began bringing things into the weyr. First came a tray of food, which was set on the desk. Then two buckets, and finally a short stack of towels. Fareeha closed the door after accepting the towels, then walked to the bedside.

“Angela,” she said softly. Angela opened her eyes and pulled the furs up under her chin, avoiding Fareeha’s face. She could feel her blush all the way to her shoulder blades. Fareeha’s shoulders sagged and she stood straighter. 

“Hello,” Angela replied, keeping herself covered as she pushed herself up to a sit. She continued to avoid looking at the other woman. Flight lust, she thought to herself. Just flight lust.

“You are in my weyr. Oxtoth rose, and we were caught up in the flight. You remember?” Fareeha pressed her hand over her shirt, covering herself as she stepped back. Something in her expression was pained and Angela almost opened her mouth to question why. She stopped herself. Interrogating Fareeha at this moment felt too invasive, especially since she was still settling her own thoughts. Instead, she nodded.

“I remember,” she confirmed. 

Fareeha drew further away, returning to the chair. She folded the furs, then set them to the side. “I’ve had the drudges bring you a meal, something you like. There is some water, cold and hot. You can use my basin and my sweetsand if you would like to wash yourself. They have made a fresh jug of klah. The cups are here.” Fareeha pointed to each item as she mentioned it. “I will leave. If you need help finding your way to your weyr, please ask Caudeth to relay the message to Raptorath, and I will send a drudge to assist you.”

Angela blinked at the efficiency of the speech, and the carefully neutral tone in which it was delivered. She didn't quite know what to make of it. If she was to guess by the other woman's posture and the way she avoided looking towards her, Angela would say she was expecting some sort of punishment from the gold rider in her bed. “Thank you, Fareeha,” Angela said, though that did not seem to improve the other riders mood. 

Fareeha simply nodded, then walked to her barracks box. She retrieved a pair of pants and a shirt and dressed quickly. “You can borrow any of my clothes that you need,” she added as she straightened her top. She looked thoughtfully at the door, then at the exit to the ledge. Kicking her feet into slippers, Fareeha gestured to the latter. “If you don’t want to be seen leaving, there are steps from my ledge to the empty weyr to the left. You can follow the sluice to the ground. It’s clean.” She inhaled deeply, then nodded. “My riders are discreet,” she finally added, looking back in Angela's direction. “They will not tell anyone what they saw, on my honor.”

Angela blinked again, suddenly understanding the reason for Fareeha’s behaviour. She was trying to help Angela preserve her honour and reputation as a goldrider. Only bronzes and browns with gold, Ramona had instructed her, once upon a time. Once upon a time she had believed that meant only men in her bed. The blush darkened. “I’m not...I wouldn’t,” she stammered, but Fareeha shook her head.

“It was a flight. The dragon chooses, the rider complies,” she said with finality. “I will not return until you are gone, I promise. No one will know you were here with me.”

Angela could not think of a reply. She nodded mutely. Fareeha picked up her flight jacket from a hook on the wall, then left, closing the door firmly behind herself.


	3. The Business of Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling into life at Overwatch Weyr is easier than Angela thought, though there are still some surprises to be had.

At Fort there had always been tension the morning after a flight, regardless of whose dragon had risen. Certainly Angela expected at least one of the riders who had lost out to be sore about it but when Lena appeared in the mess hall there was no confrontation. The greenrider collected a jug of klah and a double portion of sweet rolls, then meandered between the tables, greeting the other wingriders just as she did every other morning. Angela watched her until it was apparent Lena was heading for Fareeha’s table. She turned her attention back to her pre-appointment notes, jumping a little when Lena’s plate landed on the table across from her instead.

“Morning,” Lena said, taking a big bite out of one of the sweet rolls. Angela set down her pen and looked up as Lena sat. The greenrider’s expression could best be described as ‘smug’ as she settled into the chair and grinned at Angela. “Thanks for walking me back yesterday, mate.”

Angela shrugged a shoulder and smiled back. “You’re welcome,” she replied, picking up her mug of klah and forcing herself not to look past Lena at Fareeha’s table. “I assume the result was to your liking?”

To her surprise, Lena blushed before she took another bite of food. She nodded while she chewed. “Worth the wait,” she finally said, taking a drink to wash down the sweet roll. “You got back alright, yeah? None of them gave you any trouble?”

Angela couldn’t help a quick look at Fareeha, who was bent over a complex wing diagram. “No,” she answered simply. Lena turned to follow Angela’s gaze, or at least would have if Angela hadn’t caught her chin with one hand. “Lena.”

The greenriders eyebrow arched. “Secrets safe with me, luv,” she said, tearing off another bite of pastry. “Couldn’t do much better, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Frowning, Angela shook her head. “I do mind. Who was the rider who won yesterday? I hadn’t seen them before,” she asked, valiantly attempting to change the subject. 

Lena picked at the sweet roll, then leaned her elbows on the table. “Amelie of blue Lacroith. She’s...technically part of our weyr, but she’s always been assigned to Talon Hold.” She took another bite, chewing and swallowing before fixing Angela with a pleading look. “She maybe technically blew off her watch to get here for the flight. Can we keep that between us? She has a hard time and she doesn’t deserve to get in any trouble over me.”

“She looked like she might be sick,” Angela commented. “I won’t say anything to Zarya, but...is she alright? If you’re at risk for illness…”

“Oh no, no no no, nah, nothing like that,” Lena said, her accompanying giggle a little too high pitched. “Nah, she’s not sick. She has a skin condition. Doesn’t want people to stare at her too much. It’s not contagious, just…” She made a vague gesture with one hand. “She’s shy. Doesn’t like being around other riders if she can help it.”

Angela watched Lena pick apart her second sweet roll. “Does she always come for Oxtoth’s flights?” She asked carefully.

Lena fixated even more on her food. “Yeah. And a couple others. I think. I don’t keep track or anything. It’s her life.”

Once again Angela forced herself not to look at Fareeha, though she couldn't help wondering to what extent their stories matched. Did Amelie feel the same shame Fareeha seemed to? Was that why she wore her armor even during a mating flight? She reached across the table to pat Lena’s arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet her.”

Lena’s smile flickered. “She’s not gonna like you, I can tell you that right now. You’re a healer and a gold rider, definitely low on her list.”

Angela smiled back. “I’ll win her over. Just wait and see. And speaking of healing. You’re on my list of appointments today.”

Rolling her eyes, Lena slumped against the table. “Yes ma’am,” she sighed, cramming the rest of the sweet roll into her mouth. “I can finish breakfast first, yeah?”

Angela nodded, finishing her klah and folding her notes. “I’ll see you in the infirmary,” she said, rising from the table. Lena gave a saucy little salute, then turned her attention to her klah.

\-------------

Unlike the rest of the wingriders, Zarya had insisted on attending Lena’s exam. When the bouncy greenrider arrived at the infirmary, Angela informed Caudeth, who relayed the message to the weyrwoman. She arrived minutes later, stepping deferentially through the screens Angela had erected around the examination table. Angela idly noted some bruising around the weyrwoman’s neck and shoulders, but kept any speculation to herself. Green flights caught everyone up in their wake, it seemed. 

Lena did not seem bothered at all by the weyrwoman's presence. She flashed a tired little smile at Zarya when she arrived, then settled back onto the table and pulled off her tunic. The fist sized pink blotch at the centre of her chest looked angry in the infirmary's light. The scratches and tiny bruises patterned over Lena’s chest were politely ignored by the two goldriders. “Tell me how it happened,” Angela said, leaning in close to get a better look at the scar.

“Not much to tell. I was a weyrling, we were just taking our first flights, I…”. Lena trailed off as Zarya gave her a firm look. Rolling her eyes, the green rider sighed. “Right, right, truth then. The brats in my weyrling class played some jokes on the ones who were bred outside the weyr, the crafters and the holdbred, yeah? So they escalated. Only they forgot their firestone lessons, so they didn’t think how dangerous a little lump could be. They held me down and lit it, and I got a hole in my lung and a permanent pass from ever going between. I figure the lungs fixed now, but I still have to take the long way round. Pass out solid if I ever go between. Gives Oxtoth a fright.”

Angela furrowed her brow. “You can't breathe between, or do you have a panic attack?”

“I get one breath in and it feels like my whole body’s tearing in two. So then I have a panic attack. And then it’s lights out.”

Zarya looked to Angela. “She is a good messenger. Very fast. But she cannot fight, and she is out of practise with between. It is unsafe.”

Angela nodded, resting her palm over the scar. “Deep breath,” she instructed Lena. She tried, but as her chest rose to capacity she let out the breath in a yelp, clutching at Angela’s hand. The healer frowned. “Try again. Slowly. Stop when it starts to hurt, then slowly exhale.”

Lena obeyed the instructions and Angela felt her chest expand. Just before capacity the rider stopped, wincing, then pursed her lips and exhaled as carefully as she could manage. Zarya leaned over her, turning to Angela with a questioning look. “Is that good?” She asked, watching Angela retract her hand. “Do you know how to help her?”

Angela picked up her notes and scribbled a few things. “Have the healers ever tried any poultices or ointments on your chest and throat?” 

Lena shook her head, leaning back on the table. “Couple of different teas. Didn’t work, mind you.” 

“They wouldn’t.” Angela considered the scar again. “Does it hurt when it’s touched?”

“A little,” Lena answered. “But I can wear shirts and all that. Lucky I don’t need to bind myself up.” She smirked at Zarya, who rolled her eyes. 

Angela scribbled a few more notes, Zarya craning her neck to get a better look at what she was writing. “I think I can compound an ointment, but it will take time before you’ll be able to fly a full fall. You can train with another rider for a month with the equipment and the ointment I prepare for you, then you can try riding Oxtoth,” Angela said. “I’ll have it for you tonight, and you can rejoin drill tomorrow.”

Zarya nodded once in satisfaction. “Good. You will ride with W’ton. Rest. Eat. Be ready tomorrow at dawn.” She clasped Lena’s shoulder, then handed her the tunic. “The bronzes and Ana return tomorrow,” she directed to Angela as Lena dressed herself. “We meet after morning drill to discuss what they have found.” 

Angela inclined her head, signing off on her last notes. “I will come to your weyr as soon as I am sent for,” she replied, smiling at Lena. “And you I will see later tonight. Rest up.”

Laughing as she jumped off of the exam table, Lena patted Angela on the shoulder. “I’ve got no plans outside of sleeping, believe me,” she said, then jogged off out of the infirmary. 

\-------------

Zarya’s weyr was larger than it seemed at first. Angela hadn’t really understood until she’d gotten comfortable in her own and found the secondary chamber just off of the first. She’d used it to store her riding gear and some of the equipment she’d brought with her from Fort. Zarya, much longer settled, had established the smaller chamber as her actual living space, separate from the work room she spent most of her time in. Angela waited just outside of the door, tapping one foot to ease her nerves and half-listening to the conversation between Zarya and a technocrafter, Mei, inside. 

Why she’d asked the crafter to meet in her personal weyr, Angela couldn’t say. It seemed excessively informal, even for Overwatch Weyr, but she wasn’t about to tell the Weyrwoman how to take her meetings. Instead, she stared at the opposite wall and focused on the day ahead. The only riders she hadn’t met, the two bronzes and the other gold, were due to return from the technocrafter hall. Her physical exams were completed and they were going to have a council meeting to discuss her findings and the current news from the technocrafters. Zarya had requested they meet before the others arrived so Angela could be properly briefed. 

“They come,” Zarya said to the technocrafter. Angela furrowed her brow at the strange tone of the Weyrwoman’s voice. She did not sound like her usual gruff self. 

“I’m ready,” Mei responded. Angela had only met her on a few occasions, when their work had required it. She had a generally favourable impression, especially since the crafters attitude was so positive. 

There was a moment of silence, then Zarya heaved a great sigh. “I will miss you,” she murmured, and Angela’s cheeks pinked. Her sudden strong suspicion as to why the crafter was in Zarya’s chamber was confirmed when the two women emerged, Zarya’s arm around Mei’s shoulders. 

“Two sevendays isn’t so long. You’ve made it before,” Mei said, smiling a hello at Angela as though this was the most normal thing in the world. Angela automatically forced an awkward smile in return. 

Zarya nodded, heaving another sigh. “I promise I will eat and sleep and go for walks,” she said. “Angela will sign notes.” When the Weyrwoman glanced at her, Angela only nodded. She was definitely staring at them, but could not seem to help herself. They were being so blatant! So obvious! She was accustomed to the messy tangle of relations that greenriders of both genders cultivated, but Aleksath was a gold. A weyrwoman taking another woman as her weyrmate was shocking.

“And I promise I will send a message with Snowball every day,” Mei said, reaching up to cup Zarya’s cheek. “No dying,” she said firmly, guiding Zarya down to kiss her. Angela blinked, reddened and looked away. 

“No dying,” Zarya chuckled as she was released. “Angela will save me.”

“Angela has more important things to do than chase you every day, right Angela?” Mei said, looking past Zarya for confirmation. Angela turned back towards them, laughing nervously.

“I promise I will do what I can,” she said, still not quite able to meet Mei’s eyes. “But she is bigger than me.”

“She is,” Mei said fondly, running her hand down Zarya’s arm. “I love you.”

Angela looked away again as Zarya drew Mei back towards herself. She heard the kiss and the long breath that followed, almost giggling with relief when she heard a dragon land heavily on the ledge outside. 

“Zarya! Mei!” The man’s voice boomed through the weyr. She heard heavy footsteps and turned towards them, looking past the embracing women to the giant of a man who’d just pushed past the curtain. He perked up even more when he saw her, jogging to her with a hand extended. “And you must be Angela, by Faranth I would know that Fort chin anywhere.” She accepted what she thought would be a handshake, finding herself yanked into a boisterous hug instead. 

“Angela of gold Caudeth,” she wheezed as he released her, her smile turning more genuine as he clapped her on the back.

“I Impressed at Fort!” the jovial rider exclaimed. “I’m R’Hardt of bronze Wilheth, by the by, shells it’s good to see a new face here. This place needs new blood if we’re going to do our part! Was your Weyrlingmaster T’ler on Naoth?”

She patted him on the arm. “He was,” she said with a smile. “Are you going to join us at the meeting?”

“Of course! Just have to take Lady Mei off to the hall first. Have you finished your tearful farewell?” He called over his shoulder. Zarya, no longer holding Mei, grunted in mock annoyance and gave him a solid punch in the arm. 

“She is ready. Go. We will see you at the meeting table when you return,” Zarya said, walking past him and gesturing for Angela to follow. “Come with me.”

Angela raised a hand in farewell to R’Hardt and Mei, then followed after Zarya as she returned to her private room. The Weyrwoman listened as Mei and R’Hardt walked past the curtain, then crossed her arms over her chest and faced Angela.

“You did not know Mei is my weyrmate,” she stated. Angela shook her head. “This northern attitude will not continue. Is disrespectful to me, and to Mei, and to other riders at my weyr.”

Angela gaped. “Northern…”

“This is not Fort or Igen or Benden. Is Overwatch. It is no ones business to judge who is with who.” Zarya narrowed her eyes. “Questions?”

So many, Angela thought. She closed her mouth and tried to reorient herself. “I didn’t think women like you...could Impress gold,” she said. Zarya’s eyebrow slowly rose.

“I did.” Zarya answered firmly.

Angela tried to reconcile that with her lessons and found it still did not make sense. “They told me it was set. Only women who wanted men on gold. Men who wanted women on bronze and brown. Anyone on blue and green. That there was no other way.”

“They are wrong.” Zarya watched her intently. “You will not say these things to my riders. They have come here to escape these ideas.”

“I won’t,” Angela affirmed, still awash with confusion. What did Zarya’s assertion mean? The thought of Fareeha, dark eyed with lust, arose unbidden. Angela pushed it back. “Are...many of the riders here like you?” Zarya’s gaze was piercing. Angela had to will herself to meet it. In the back of her mind rose a steady panic. She knows, she knows, she knows, she knows.

“Only some,” Zarya answered. “If they want you to know, they will tell you.”

Angela nodded slowly, folding her hands together. She looked away from Zarya, sorting her own thoughts. Fareeha’s face, her lips, her hands kept resurfacing, until she took a deep breath and looked at the Weyrwoman once again. “I slept with Wingleader Fareeha. The day of Oxtoth’s flight.”

Zarya’s reaction was underwhelming. She shrugged one shoulder. “It happens,” she said. “It is not wrong. You have been a gold rider for years. You know this is true.”

“I do. And it was a flight. It...does happen. She seemed upset, though…” Angela trailed off, remembering Fareeha’s guarded expression and the stiffness that followed. “And I’ve never been with a woman before…”

Zarya frowned. “Then you should have gone with one of the men, or a drudge.”

“I should have,” Angela admitted. She thought back to the other two, J’Rat and J’Cree, but could not imagine taking either to bed. A drudge would have been a better choice if she’d truly felt she needed company. Indeed, she had dozens of other choices that weren’t Fareeha. She felt guilty for her impulsiveness. “I should apologize to her.”

“Hm. After the meeting. There is much to discuss.”

\-------------

The notion of a council was unfamiliar to Angela, even after Zarya’s careful explanation. She was used to the traditional array of junior goldriders answering to a senior in the running of the weyr, with wingleaders answering to the weyrleader in the martial workings of the wings. At Zarya’s table, there seemed to be no notion of rank. The two retired bronzeriders, R’Hardt and J’Son sat on each side of the retired goldrider, Ana. Angela had gravitated to R’Hardt’s other side, while Zarya sat next to J’Son. That left Fareeha sitting stiffly in her flight leathers between the two active gold riders, sipping her wine in measured amounts and only speaking when spoken to.

The meeting had begun with a meal, followed by a round of introductions. She had learned that R’Hardt was a son of Fort, that J’Son had impressed at Benden and Ana had long ago left Telgar. They were not forthcoming in their reasons for leaving the north, only that they had agreed to go simultaneously. Fareeha likewise remained closed mouthed regarding why she had been outcast to Overwatch. In the enclosed space, it was hard to ignore the similarities between Fareeha and Ana, though neither seemed inclined to acknowledge their probable familial relationship. The elder three informed Angela that they frequented the technocrafter hall to assist with the research going on there, leaving Zarya and Fareeha to run the weyr. R’Hardt had been the weyrleader before he retired, and Ana had been the weyrwoman.

Once the initial chatter had died down, Zarya rose from her seat to lay a piece of parchment on the table. “Satya’s last message,” she said, looking to Ana. “She said there was something strange. What is it?”

The older woman stood, taking up a piece of graphite and starting to sketch. “She has noticed, not far from the hall, that Thread allowed to reach the ground has been taking to seed. There is a patch of plants that burn whatever they touch there.”

Angela leaned her elbows on the table. Thread was never allowed to reach the ground in the north because it devoured crops and injured people who found it. She had never heard of anything growing from it. The plant Ana was drawing looked slim, like a fern, but the stalks at its base were all wrong. They seemed too solid. As she tried to get a closer look, her shoulder brushed against Fareeha, who immediately leaned away from her. 

“Do they do anything?” The wingleader asked, giving the plant a critical look.

“That was why Satya requested Mei’s assistance,” J’Son answered. “They move without any wind on them, but that’s all we can figure out. They’re going to try to harvest and dissect one, and hopefully that will give us more information.”

“Can they do that safely?” Angela asked, looking at the drawn plant with concern. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing you could just uproot by hand. 

“They’ll have Roadh and Roask with them. Our only wherhandler,” J’Son explained in Angela’s direction. “If it gives them trouble, Roask’ll just eat it and they can try again later.”

“Is there a rider assigned to the hall, or a healer?” Studying the plant again, Angela began mentally comparing it to similar herbs and poisonous flora. “If something goes wrong, I can be ready to treat them if they can be brought to me. Or I could consult with the healer to determine a treatment schedule.”

“There is a healer there, and a rider is always available to go if needed,” Ana said. “They will wait until after the fall tomorrow to do their experiments, in case.”

“What is to be expected from the fall,” Zarya asked, turning to Fareeha. 

The wingleader stood, producing her own parchment and unrolling it across the table. “This is the diagram we received from Igen. They anticipate an hour in the afternoon over the hold, then another hour over the weyr. The hall should not expect any fall. It will be heavy, but we have seen worse. I expect to run a bilevel defence. At the top will be the wing, and at the bottom will be Angela and the recently cleared riders. They will run supply, and she will coordinate healing and evac. Weyrwoman Zarya, we will require you at the leading edge. I will set the greens on sweep, and I will lead the browns and blues as the core force. Based on Igens scouting we will adopt fifth formation, unless there is an unexpected shift. I have prepared the ground crew plans for both weyr and hold, awaiting your review, weyrwoman.” She offered two rolls of paper to Zarya, who unrolled each and made her mark on the bottom.

“I trust your judgement,” Zarya replied. She went silent for a moment then set the papers to the side. “Drill will be light preparations this evening. Tomorrow morning all fighting riders are to report for inspection by myself and Angela before morning meal. Everyone will eat, then everyone will fly.”

Fareeha sat, gathering in her map. “I will relay the message to my riders.”

Zarya nodded, then gestured to Angela. “Tell us your findings, and then we will adjourn.”

Her own presentation was a blur. Names, injuries, estimates for recovery-she ran through them efficiently. The others, aside from Fareeha, made notes and asked questions. The wingleader sat, sipped her wine and did not make eye contact. Only Ana seemed to notice, though she did not say anything. When Zarya declared the meeting adjourned, Angela caught Fareeha’s wrist before she could hurry away. “I need to speak with you,” she said. “In my weyr. Please.”

The other woman considered, then nodded. “I will escort you,” she said, rising from her seat. Angela stood as well, waited for Fareeha to gather her papers, then lead the way out of the room. She walked ahead of the wingleader through the halls, not daring to look behind her. 

When they reached her weyr, she opened the door, letting Fareeha step inside before she did. “I wanted to apologize,” Angela began, moving past the brownrider before she could speak. “During the flight I wasn’t thinking straight. I let myself get caught up in the moment and I shouldn’t have taken advantage as I did. I treated you poorly.” She turned then, not sure what to expect.

Fareeha looked deeply confused. Her eyes searched Angela’s, then she looked back towards the door. “You...believe you took advantage of me.”

Angela nodded. “Your dragon was chasing. You were compromised. I had a clearer head, and I should have looked elsewhere or remained alone rather than seducing you.”

The nonplussed expression Fareeha wore did not inspire confidence. “You had a clearer head,” she repeated. 

“I did. It would be different if it Caudeth had been the one rising, but I could have left.”

Brows knitting together, Fareeha nodded. “But you didn’t,” she said, half to herself.

“No. I didn’t.” Angela folded her hands. “Can you-”

“Why didn’t you?” Fareeha interjected, crossing her arms and planting her feet. Angela sputtered as the wingleader met her eyes, feeling the blush rising on her cheeks. 

“The flight,” she automatically replied, but it sounded a little too desperate to her ears. “It was Oxtoth’s rising-”

“Either you had the self control to stay and choose or to leave,” Fareeha said patiently. “Or you couldn’t control yourself.”

Angela took a deep breath, ready to argue again, but stopped herself. Fareeha was right. She couldn’t have it both ways. Either she was in control or out of control, but she was not both. She thought back to the flight, how she’d felt, what she’d been thinking. She remembered looking at the men, mentally dismissing them, and the feeling that ran through her when she looked at Fareeha. She shoved the memory aside. It was a connection of rank, not of sex. That must have been it. She wanted a brownrider, not a woman. “I chose. It was you because of your rank,” she said slowly, quashing the feeling that she wasn’t being totally honest. “Because of your dragon.”

Fareeha closed her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose. “Fine then,” she murmured. “Your apology is accepted.”

“I don’t want this to affect how we work together,” Angela began hesitantly.

“It won’t,” Fareeha cut her off. “I have to relay orders to the wing. Good day, Angela.” With that the wingleader turned on her heel and left Angela alone in her weyr with her thoughts.

\-------------

The next morning was unlike anything Angela had ever experienced. At Fort she was junior enough to only be responsible for her own gear and whatever little housekeeping chores Ramona thought to delegate. She had to load her flamethrower, inspect her straps, then marshal with the other goldriders to join the lowest flying wing. 

Today she’d been brought her breakfast, which should have been an indication of how her day was going to go, but shortly after it arrived came the first rider. Zarya had instructed her that each fighting rider had to have an assessment focused on injuries, so she had gotten straight to work. 

Initially, each rider was the same. She took their orders packet, reviewed their wing position, then examined them. If they passed to Zarya’s standards, Angela signed their assignment and sent them on their way. If they didn’t meet the minimum, she took their paperwork and filed it. Outside in the weyrbowl, Aleksath and Zarya were doing the same with their dragons and equipment. 

Lena arrived at the midpoint, offering Angela her flight assignment with a hopeful look. “I know I’m not gonna pass,” she commented as she shucked her flight jacket and her boots. “But this is the first fall in awhile they’ve let me check in on.”

Angela smiled as she walked a circle around the rider. “We’ll see,” she said, gesturing for Lena to hold out her arms. She inspected the woman’s arms and hands, then had her stand with her feet apart while looking over her legs. “Deep breath,” she said. Lena’s face fell a little, then she breathed in until she had to stop. Angela patted her shoulder as she coughed. “Next time,” she assured the rider, setting aside her file. “You’ll do very well keeping an eye on the Weyr.”

Lena snorted, yanking her pants back up. “Yeah, watching Ana take all my marks at cards is a real joy,” she said. “You be careful up there, yeah? We only just got you.”

Angela smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

Lena clapped her on the shoulder as she pulled her jacket on and jogged out. Angela rinsed her hands, then turned to find the next rider had silently slipped into the room. She recognized Amelie immediately by her distinctive plait and her unusual flight gear. The rider’s golden eyes followed her every move.

“Amelie of blue Lacroith?” Angela asked. The rider did not answer. Her eyes flicked from Angela’s mussed hair to her hands, then back to her face. “Paperwork?” Angela asked once it was clear she would get no conversation. Amelie produced her sheaf of orders from under her arm. “You will need to remove your helmet, jacket and pants in order to be inspected,” Angela continued, looking over the riders papers. When she raised her head, Amelie was still fully dressed.

“File them,” she said. Through the slits in her face protection, Angela could see Amelie’s golden brown eyes fixed firmly on her. 

“Zarya has assigned you to the fighting wing,” Angela replied. “You must be inspected or you will be written up for insubordination and restricted to your weyr.” She didn’t want to threaten, but there could be very few delays in her work. The rider stared at her for several breaths, then slowly began to remove her helmet.

Angela had learned over her short time to stop being surprised when exposed to the strange folk of Overwatch Weyr, but the face that emerged from beneath the armour was shocking. Amelie’s features were lovely-she had a pert nose and wide expressive eyes, plump lips and a heart shaped face-but Angela had not been mistaken the day of Oxtoth’s flight. Her skin was patched with blue and purple, giving her the appearance of having been recently beaten. 

The discolouration became less apparently as she removed her leathers-it was mostly on her limbs and face, which suggested an unnatural origin to Angela. She touched a few spots, asking if there was any pain, then continued as she had with every other rider. Physically Amelie was perfect-lighter than expected for a bluerider, but clearly in fine shape. When she tested Amelie’s reactions, Angela found her to be quicker than average. Emotionally, she was unlike the rest of the wing. The others were nervous or confident or friendly-Amelie showed none of that. She had an air of faint disinterest, even as she was poked and prodded by the Healer. Lena’s comments from the other day nagged at her, and Angela found herself going over the orders again as the rider dressed herself.

It occurred to her that Amelie might be some sort of test. Zarya did not seem above throwing her a rider who seemed fit, but may be a disaster in the wing. She considered the assignment, then crossed it out with her pen, scribbling a new one in its place.

“You’ve been out of training too long,” she said over her shoulder as she filled in the form. “I do not believe you would be suited for the wing. I am reassigning you to watch at the Weyr while the wing flies over the hold. You can return to your guard there once they sound the all clear.” She shook the page to let it dry. “I will also be issuing a recommendation that your watch be put on rotation. You need to be present for drill, to bring your skills up to par so you can fight in the wing.”

Amelie’s expression was unreadable as Angela returned her papers. “Who do I report to?” She finally asked, tucking the orders back under her arm.

“Wingleader Fareeha. And then wingrider Lena,” Angela said. “There may be an emergency call from the hall. I believe you are likely fast enough to reach them if need be.”

Amelie tucked her hair into her helmet, then fixed the faceplate in place. With a silent incline of her head, she left. There was little time to question the bluerider’s strange behaviour, as the next rider arrived promptly.

The last of her inspections were Zarya and Fareeha, who arrived together, conversing about the strategy for the flight’s defense plan. “Mid height seems too conservative,” Fareeha was saying as she entered the examination space and began to remove her jacket. 

“Is better to be conservative than to lose a rider. The greens will last.” Zarya seated herself on the sleeping ledge, nodding to Angela as the other goldrider accepted Fareeha’s paperwork. “There are two more cleared for the wing this time. You have made adjustments?”

Fareeha dropped her pants on top of her jacket, then stood straight with her arms out. “They’re both to the right. It’s overloaded, in case they have to withdraw. Your coverage should give them an easier time, and we can rebalance once they’re accustomed.” She looked away from Angela as the exam began. 

The conversation did not pertain to her, so Angela tuned it out, focusing on the body before her. Fareeha already smelled of firestone, dragons and leather, and the day had only just begun. Her hair had been braided in the front, left loose in the back, the better to fit inside of her helmet. Angela only touched as much as she needed to, finishing by catching Fareeha’s attention and checking her reflexes. When she was finished, Angela signed her paperwork, then repeated the process with Zarya. Zarya signed Angela’s papers as a formality, and the three of them adjourned to eat a quick lunch before the wing moved to the fight.


	4. Fire and Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threadfall over Talon Hold heralds disaster for Overwatch Weyr when a new enemy emerges.

Angela sat back in her straps, testing their pliability. Beneath her, Caudeth crouched, lithe and attentive. The wing spread out before them, riders already fidgeting on dragons. To her left, she could just see Lena and Oxtoth perched high on the cliffs. On the right, Amelie and Lacroith had settled on the ledge of an unused weyr and were staring off into the distance. 

At the head of the wing, Zarya swung herself aboard Aleksath, the great scarred gold surging underneath her rider before two drudges hefted the massive flamethrower up to the Weyrwoman. Just to Zarya’s side, Fareeha and Raptorath had settled into a tense waiting stance. Angela’s gaze lingered there, studying Fareeha’s impeccably maintained armour and how it contrasted against the deep, rich colour of Raptoraths brown hide. Then she moved on, watching Zarya as her anticipation built. It was hard not to feel a touch afraid. Threadfall was dangerous. She had never flown a full fall in such a small group. Fort fielded a dozen wings to cover their holds and halls in comparison to Overwatches one, and they had bronzes. 

_It will be fine,_ Caudeth told her, her eyes already whirling faintly orange. _I am fast. You are strong. Aleksath's is strong as well. We will fight well._

Angela ran her fingers along her dragon’s shoulder. _You always know just what to say,_ she thought back to the gold, projecting warmth and love through their bond. 

_Aleksath’s says it is time. We fly once the others go._ Already the rest of the wing was taking off, following Fareeha and Zarya into the sky. They wheeled once over the Weyr, reforming into their battle group, then vanished between.

_Now,_ Angela said as Caudeth’s great wings spread. She adjusted her flamethrower straps one last time, then gripped her saddle, focused on her brief memory of Talon Hold and braced herself for the cold of between. Caudeth took them through in an instant and Angela thanked Faranth for the years of training she’d had to cope with the bone-deep chill and strange, still darkness. As quickly as it had begun, it was over, Caudeth gliding through the skies over the Hold. 

Angela could smell the acrid reek of firestone and scorched Thread all around her, trusting Caudeth to orient them as she finished preparing her flamethrower. The roars of the dragons above were heartening. She looked up into a whirl of wings and gouts of flame, distantly able to hear the shouts of the riders as they yelled encouragement to one another. Lightning-quick greens darted around the five stalwart browns, blues making wide, fast arcs past their fellows. At the lead was the great bulk of Aleksath, flame gouting from her mouth and Zarya’s enormous flamethrower in twin blasts. Out ahead and above them, Thread fell in sheets and clumps, blazing brightly when the dragons flamed. Angela glanced down, picking out the shuttered windows and doors of the hold, the folk within well protected from the falling Thread. The ground crews, brave souls who walked the fields with flamethrowers and heavy armor protecting them to protect the crops, were marshalling at the four compass point gates that divided the tall walls of the hold.

_There,_ Caudeth said. Angela followed the dragon's instinct, sweeping her flamethrower in a wide arc to their right. She saw the almost invisible filaments burst into flame, then gripped her saddle as Caudeth began to climb. _There,_ the dragon said again and Angela pivoted in place, blasting through a clump that was falling directly ahead of them. She had hardly ever taken such an active role in Threadfall before-so often the higher dragons were quite capable of handling the falling Thread, leaving goldriders with little to do. 

Craning her neck she tracked the progress of the wing in the sky, looking just in time to see a terrifying eruption of flame from their enormous gold leader. A sheet of ash showered down over the land below. Caudeth swooped to one side to avoid it, beating her wings hard to complete the turn. She directed Angela to another clump, tucking into a dive to get the best angle for the flamethrower. Angela unleashed the fire and Caudeth curved back up towards the sky, bugling triumphantly as her rider watched the thread burn. 

On her next sweep, she cast an eye to the hold on the ground, checking the progress of the ground crew. Here and there in the field she saw little spurts of flame but no sign of healers or injured holdfolk being rushed back indoors. Caudeth indicated that Zarya was requesting a report, so Angela noted the ground crews work and her own status. She looked up once more, easily spotting Raptorath as the brown twisted and turned through the wing, spurting flame high and low faster than she could follow. Fareeha and her dragon suddenly broke from the high formation. Angela watched in awe as Fareeha dug both hands into her firestone sacks, delivering two large chunks of the rock to Raptorath. He crunched through them with great speed, then pushed them back to the heights in a flurry of wingbeats.

Caudeth swerved to point Angela’s flamethrower at another heavy drift and this time there was no avoiding the ash. She felt it cake across her face and helmet, just barely clasping her glove over her mouth in time. There was no panic when she found herself riding blind-Caudeth flew them wide while she cleaned her goggles. When she could see again, she told Caudeth so, urging the gold back towards the fight. Her approach was quick, but not so fast that she didn’t notice a commotion on the ground. 

_Caudeth, how is the sky?_ Angela holstered her flamethrower and turned in the saddle. _Do they need us?_ It appeared as though the southern ground crew had given up their work to cluster around something. 

_Ash rains. Aleksath's flame is hot. Hers gives permission for us to investigate and report._

Rising in the straps, Angela twisted back towards the southern edge of the hold. _Turn back,_ she instructed the dragon, digging in her jacket to pull out a spyglass. _Be ready to land._

Caudeth's eyes whirled red as she banked, bringing them back towards the south. Angela stood, gripping the straps with one hand and pressing the spyglass to her goggles with the other. 

Ahead and below, she saw a small knot of holdfolk concentrating their flame on something in the grass. _Closer,_ she urged Caudeth, leaning to the side to better see past her dragon. The spyglass gave her a chilling view of two holdfolk covered in blood, then they’d soared past. _Turn back,_ Angela said, sitting back in her saddle. Her heart pounded-those scorched by thread didn’t bleed that way. They burned. She put the spyglass back into her jacket and unholstered her flamethrower again. _Curve just past them,_ she told Caudeth, the dragon already adjusting their approach. 

This time it was clear. The holdfolk unleashed another blast of fire across the field before them and Angela saw a wave of shining silver creatures skittering away under the grass in the light of the flames. She prepared her own flamethrower as the holdfolk finally spotted her and while she was too high to hear what they were saying, their desperate tone was enough. _Next pass, low,_ she told Caudeth. 

_Aleksath’s-_

_The holdfolk are in danger. I will report to her when they are safe,_ Angela snapped back, gritting her teeth and aiming the flamethrower as Caudeth dropped low and brought them in fast along the ground. Angela pulled the trigger, showering fire along the field. “RETREAT!” she screamed over the wind and the flame, hoping the holdfolk heard her. She could not afford to look away, trying to memorize what she could about the creatures before they burned away. 

_There is more fire,_ Caudeth told her, taking them briefly higher, then diving again. Angela saw a pillar of smoke along the eastern edge of the hold’s walls and wordlessly urged Caudeth to it. This time, when she saw movement along the ground, she did not hesitate. The dragon swept low once again and Angela’s flamethrower spat great gouts. Before they were consumed by the flame, she caught a better look-the things below were round silver insects the size of dinner plates. There were a great many of them, though she was too busy fending them off to get an accurate count. 

Angela hazarded a look over her shoulder as Caudeth brought them higher once more. To her relief, the holdfolk to the south and east were no longer in the field. Without any urging, Caudeth banked north. _I will tell Aleksath’s that the ground crews are in danger,_ she informed her rider, swinging them over the northern ground crew. The group was clustered near the wall and Angela could hear the tail end of shouting before they were overshot. 

_Everyone must get inside of the hold. We must land._ Caudeth did not question her, instead executing a sharp u-turn and dropping to the ground. She landed heavily, just short of the holders, interrupting their argument and drawing their attention. 

“Get back inside of the hold,” Angela shouted. “There is something dangerous in the grass!”

For a moment they simply stood, stunned, then the eldest of them began to tug on the clothing of his fellows, urging them away. _Aleksath’s says we must return to the wing,_ Caudeth said uneasily, looking out over the field as Angela watched the holdfolk rush back into the protection of the hold walls. 

_No,_ Angela replied. _Not until they’re all safe._

_Aleksath’s says she will send a wingrider-_

_Tell Aleksath’s that I am almost done._ She would deal with the Weyrwoman’s fury at being disobeyed later, once the hold was safe. _We fly. The western ground crew must be alerted._

Caudeth did not argue. It was one of the many parts of the bond they shared-their devotion to protection and aid had always seemed unmatched by other dragonpairs. As they took to the sky once again, Angela looked up, spotting the wing as they chased the leading edge of the fall. They would be fine without her, for a little while. 

Caudeth swooped down on the western edge and Angela nearly dropped her flamethrower. There was no wonder why it had been so silent. It was a scene of slaughter. Bodies were strewn through the field, some still moving obscenely as the insects feasted on them from the inside out. Blood and viscera trails went every which way, but most in the direction of the hold. Angela’s eyes, already streaming with tears, went wide as she saw the open gate, a few straggling creatures marching through.

“First egg…” she said, her stomach sinking. _We have to help, Caudeth, I have to help them. Land. Land in the square._ Her gloved fingers worked frantically at her straps as the dragon coasted them towards the hold and as she came in low to land, Angela began to hear the screaming. The folk were panicking, racing through the streets. Fires roared along the roofs of the dwellings in the west of the hold. A few badly injured guards tried to maintain order, but when the people saw the gold dragon, they rushed her. 

“Help us!”

“Goldrider, my son-”

“Goldrider, what is going on?”

“Get us out of here!”

She freed herself from the saddle, looking out over the crowd. Satisfied that none of the insects had reached the square, she dismounted, holding up her hands. “Someone tell me what’s happening,” she shouted, then pointed at one of the guards. “Where are your healers?”

“They came from the western gate!”

“There was so much blood!”

“We saw the explosion!”

Everyone talked at once, until finally Angela gestured for the guard to come closer. “Tell me,” she said.

“The healers went to the west gate, goldrider,” he wailed. She took a closer look at him, and under his helmet saw a boy who was eighteen turns at best. Her jaw worked and she pulled off her helmet, the better to speak to the people. 

“Whoever is fastest, run to the Lord Holder. Tell him I am here in the square and to send a messenger telling me what he needs from the Weyr.” At her words, two women at the rear of the crowd bolted to the north. “Bring me blankets and cloth. Anyone injured, come to me, I am a healer. Everyone else, arm yourselves and form a circle at the western edge of the square. Leave the children and the wounded by Caudeth, I promise you I will take care of them.”

_Aleksath's says we are to return to the Weyr,_ Caudeth informed her again. _I have told her that the hold is in danger._ There was a pause. _Aleksath’s says we are to return._

_Zarya can-_ Angela cut herself off, reining in her temper. Screaming at Zarya would not help these people, and Caudeth would never get the tone right. _Tell Aleksath’s that their healers are dead, and I. Am not. Leaving._ She watched as the folk dispersed to carry out her orders, holding her hands out to the children who hesitantly came closer to she and the dragon. “This is Caudeth,” she told them. “She will let you touch her.” 

For a moment she remembered cold stone at her back and her face pressed into her dying mother’s chest, the acid smell of threadscored flesh all around her. That was not a memory she wanted for anyone, not if she could stop it. She pushed the thought away, looking past the children to their parents, uncertainly standing at the edges of the square. No one had indicated they were injured but she was certain she could see one or two of them favouring a limb. The children hesitantly pressed their hands against Caudeth’s hide and the dragon craned her neck back towards them curiously. Angela took a few steps away, peering down the corridors between buildings, wondering at the unnatural quiet. When she heard footsteps from the north, she hurried to that side of the square, meeting the two messengers as they rushed past the line. 

“Dragons,” one of them panted, catching Angela by the arm. “Medicine.”

“The guards. They’ve stopped reporting,” the other gasped, dropping to sit on the ground. “He thinks the hold is overrun.”

_Tell Aleksath’s,_ Angela immediately relayed. She thumped the standing woman on the shoulder, then paced along the line of watching holdfolk. Screams, distant and near, began to sound in the streets from the south. “By the egg,” she murmured to herself, looking back towards Caudeth. Could she safely strap in a half-dozen children and still fly? 

_Aleksath’s says Raptorath and others will come. Thread falls over the Weyr very soon. A bluerider has been scorched._

Angela took a deep breath, trying to focus on what needed to be done. A handful of holdfolk emerged from one of the alleys to the south, sprinting towards the square in desperation. She rushed towards them, spotting the horrible glinting shapes of their pursuers through the crowd. “Move!” She shouted, unholstering her flamethrower. “Hurry!”

The fleeing people bolted past her, avoiding the lit flamethrower on instinct. As the last rushed by, she shot a tongue of flame at the pack of pursuing bugs, immolating them instantly. The high pitched scream-pops they made as they died seemed to draw further attention. The alley they had emerged from flooded with insects, a great mass of them charging for the square. There were too many for the flamethrower and as she took a step backwards, the line of folk at her back broke and fled towards her dragon. 

“Hold!” She called back to them, firing short bursts in the hopes that the bugs might be deterred, but onwards they came. _Caudeth, the children-_ she sent to her dragon, at the same time that a great blast of cold burst overhead.

_Raptorath,_ the gold responded, as a downdraft nearly knocked Angela off of her feet. The flamethrower was nothing compared to the inferno Raptorath unleashed, the brown strafing the length of the alley. The roofs of the buildings blazed as he wheeled about and dove for the square. 

“MOVE,” Angela barked, gesturing with the flamethrower. The holdfolk scattered out of Raptorath’s way, the dragon landing with a great thud and a blast of wind. 

“Go back to the Weyr,” Fareeha bellowed at Angela, pointing to Caudeth. “Take anyone you can. I will protect whoever remains. We are evacuating them!” With her other hand, she shoved a handful of firestone into Raptorath’s mouth.

Angela nodded mutely, killing the flame on her flamethrower. She holstered it as she jogged towards her dragon, finding still more of the holders had fled towards Caudeth while she was fending off the insects. “Children first,” she said, striding past the folk and climbing the straps. “Then the wounded and the infirm.” She glanced at Raptorath as she buckled herself in, reaching down to help the first refugee onto her dragon’s back. He had rounded on the other alleys, Fareeh standing tall in the straps to survey the immediate area. Angela felt it unlikely they had much time. She worked quickly, finding every possible buckle and strap that could hold a person and securing someone there. She lost her gloves to grasping hands, desperate for her to pull them aboard and tried to pacify the people by pointing to Raptorath. “The wingleader will protect you. Others are coming to help. Please. We have to go.”

Finally, loaded with two bleeding guards and eight children aside from Angela herself, Caudeth spread her wings and prepared to take off. “Be safe,” Angela called to Fareeha. The other rider turned just long enough to see them leap into the sky, but was back to watching her dragon unleash another burst of flame as Angela and Caudeth disappeared between.

\-------------

The Weyr was no less chaotic. Angela emerged into a sky darkened by dragonwings, immediately sending Caudeth into a dive towards the closest entrance to the caverns. She didn’t look for any other dragon, instead hailing several weyrfolk just before she landed. “To the crèche,” she told the first, unbuckling the strap around a toddler with half-frozen hands. “The infirmary,” she told the others, gesturing to the hold guards she’d retrieved. 

She was just unstrapping herself when thundering footsteps bore down on her. There was no time to react-Zarya seized her by the shoulder of her flight jacket and dragged her out of her saddle in one vicious motion. “BY THE FIRST EGG WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” She roared, dangling Angela like a kitten.

“They needed my help!” Angela snapped back, pulling the fasteners on her jacket and trying to slip free. “You told me to go back!”

“I told you to REPORT,” Zarya snarled. “Not play hero, try to save the hold yourself! This is the discipline they teach at Fort? This is how the leaders of the north act? Caudeth could have died! You could have died!”

Angela was shaken, then unceremoniously dropped. She stumbled as she landed. “You wanted me to abandon the HOLD, the very place we were trying to protect!”

“From THREAD,” Zarya fired back. “Which still fell! Which I had to fight, while you were IGNORING MY ORDERS. J’Rat was scorched! You are very fortunate he is not dead!” She pointed to the caverns entrance. “Send Caudeth to your weyr. You go to the infirmary. Thread falls soon, and you will not be in the sky when it does. Later, you will be dealt with.”

Red-faced and furious, Angela turned her back on the weyrwoman, shucking her jacket and hurling it over Caudeth's back. The children and the guards had been taken already. _Go to the weyr,_ she told her dragon as she stormed past. Caudeth leapt and glided without replying, tucking herself away on her ledge as Angela ran into the halls leading to the infirmary.

She threw herself into the work, discarding her leathers in favour of healers robes borrowed from one of the apprentices. J’Rat was her first patient, dosed with numbweed and covered with salve all across his chest and arms. Then she moved on to the holdfolk, the guards she’d retrieved followed by the refugees flooding into the infirmary as the other riders delivered them. She worked quickly and efficiently, taking command of the apprentices and journeymen. When word came down that more riders were injured she commandeered the mess hall, sending the folk there in order to make room for the incoming dragonriders. 

When the tide finally stemmed and the last of her patients was dosed and resting, Angela reached out to Caudeth. _Are you alright?_

_Aleksath's is angry._ Angela sighed, rinsing her hands. She hadn’t really expected Zarya to have calmed down in the hours since she’d returned from the hold. 

_I am finished. Tell her I am ready to speak with her._

There was a pause. Caudeth’s mental voice was cautious when she made contact against. _Aleksath's asks you to come to her weyr. The lord holder waits._

Angela took a deep breath, then nodded to herself. _I will be there soon._

\-------------

She took a moment to change from the healers robe to a shirt and pants. Though she would have dearly loved a bath, there was a good chance that Zarya would come to collect her if she dawdled, so she splashed water on her face, tied back her hair and walked the short distance to Zarya’s weyr. 

The door was open, and inside she could see that the usually well-kept weyr was a mess. Extra chairs had been pulled in from other rooms so that Zarya, Fareeha, Ana and a tall, dark skinned man could sit. To one side, a young woman wearing harper blue and intricately braided hair sorted through a huge stack of documents, occupying a considerable amount of Zarya’s floor space with her work. The riders’ gear was discarded haphazardly throughout the room and a mostly empty platter of food sat on Zarya’s desk. Angela ignored the rumble of her stomach, focusing on the weyrwoman as she came to a halt a few feet away. 

“This is her?” The man rose and she immediately looked to his knot. He was the lord holder. She stiffened her spine in anticipation. “You presumptive...why did you reassign my watchrider? What justifies leaving my hold defenceless against whatever those things were?”

Angela’s jaw worked as she tried to come up with a response but Zarya stood and gestured to the lord holder before he could continue. “You are here to observe, Lord Gabriel. This is an issue of discipline. The Weyr does not do things in your way.”

He glared at them both, but returned to his seat. “You said she would be punished, weyrwoman,” he pointed out. “My people need answers.”

“They will have them.” Zarya turned her attention from the holder to Angela, her face tight with exhaustion and anger. “You disobeyed multiple direct orders,” she began, taking a step closer to Angela. “You did not provide reconnaissance when asked. What you gave was almost useless. You were directly insubordinate. The hold burned because you tried to defend it alone, like a fool.”

Angela tensed. Had that been her fault? She tried to piece what Zarya was saying together with what she’d seen and the picture still came out in her favour. She was not riding a fighting dragon. She only had her flamethrower, and she had provided Zarya with plenty of information. It hadn’t been immediate, but she’d been working too hard saving the holders to report every single detail. If Zarya had dispatched another rider sooner...

“My watchrider,” Lord Gabriel reminded Zarya, interrupting Angela’s train of thought. “If she had been there-”

“No,” Zarya answered with a short shake of her head. “Amelie is undertrained. Is good with firestone, but not with maneuvers. She would have been no help to you.” She returned to watching Angela, taking in her straight posture and her thinned lips. There was a long silence between them, broken only by the lord Holder’s impatient foot scuffing. “How many died,” she asked him flatly.

“Ninety six.” He glared at Angela as he said it. She breathed through her nose, trying to get past the number and failing. Ninety six holdfolk dead. The hold in ashes. Her chest hitched, but she clenched her jaw and sent her mental anguish to Caudeth instead of letting the tears fall. Outside, the dragon took up a brief mourning keen and Ana and Fareeha bowed their heads. More joined the sound, which swelled through the bowl for several breaths before it subsided with a low sound from Aleksath. Zarya’s expression was unchanged, wholly focused on Angela, watching her every move. The Lord Holder stepped closer as the silence went on again, reaching for Angela’s arm. “Did you hear-”

Zarya’s massive hand caught his wrist before he made contact. “This is not the hold,” she said, low and final. “You do not touch a dragonrider.”

He rounded on her, pulling his arm out of her grip. “What are you going to do, then?” He stepped chest to chest with her. “What action will you take? Do any of you even care that so many people died?”

Zarya stared at him. “You know little of dragons,” she stated, looking past his shoulder to Angela. “One lash for each death. Four for your insubordination. It will take two days.” 

The Lord Holder huffed a mirthless chuckle. “From some limp little green, no doubt. This is no punishment.”

“From me,” Zarya said bluntly. Angela couldn’t help an icy twinge of fear. “I am the only one permitted. Is enough for you, Lord Holder?”

He stepped back. “Tell me when. I would like to witness-”

“You will not,” Zarya said. “This is discipline, not a harper tale. Weyr business. This iIs not a thing easy to hide. You will know.”

Lord Gabriel turned to look at Angela, taking in her pale, fixed expression. She stared past him at Zarya, struggling not to move or give away more than her bloodless face already did. A hundred lashes from the most terrifying weyrwoman she had ever met. She wanted to argue that she didn’t deserve such a punishment. Unlike the Lord Holder, she had no doubt that Zarya would follow through. “My faith in the Weyr is shaken,” he said, more to Angela than anyone else. “But if this is done properly I accept it as justice.”

“Tomorrow, you come to my weyr at sunrise,” Zarya said to Angela. “And then again in a sevenday.”

Angela nodded slowly, holding back the objections she wanted to raise. Ana and Fareeha watched her with exhausted expressions, so similar that they were almost identical. The harper’s glare was so hateful Angela expected her to continue the lord holder’s objections at any moment. “I understand,” she answered. The collective silence of the others was an indication that her audience was over. With a smart step to the rear, she made her exit.

\-------------

The lid on the glow basket near the door opened and Angela blinked blearily in the half-dark. “Who is that?” she asked, gathering the furs over her shoulders. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I do not think I will get a chance to speak with you after tomorrow.” The shape next to the glows resolved itself into Ana. Her expression was stern, one eye managing to do all of the disapproving that most people needed two for. “Sit up.”

Angela swung her legs off of the side of the bed. “What do you want, Ana?” She rubbed her wrist over her eyes. 

“This is the tone you use when you are addressing your betters?” The retired goldrider paced the length of the room, stopping in front of Angela. “Do you understand what is happening tomorrow, and why?”

Angela pushed her hair back out of her eyes. “Zarya is going to beat me because I didn’t read her mind?” she yawned.

Ana pinched her ear so hard she yelped. “You sulk like a child. Is this how you would have behaved at Fort?”

“No. The holders Fort defends would not have demanded I be given lashes for something that is not my fault.” Angela pulled her face away from Ana’s fingers but the woman did not release her easily. “I saved those people,” she said. “I saved everyone I could.”

“How many could have been saved if Zarya had known what you were seeing on the ground?” Ana raised a finger before Angela began to answer. “Do not whine. Think. You are a goldrider. You do not get to pass responsibility to anyone else.”

Angela glared into that single dark eye and saw no indication that she would be able to try a glib answer without earning another pinch at minimum. She closed her eyes, pulling the furs tighter around her shoulders and thought back to the hold. Yes, she had shrugged off Zarya’s questions, but it had been the heat of the moment. Caudeth could have told her what she needed… Her eyes flicked to the curtain and the forked golden tail trailing underneath it. She had told her dragon not to explain anything, hadn’t she? The tail twitched and she felt a wash of guilt. Caudeth couldn’t be blamed for listening to her rider’s orders. Dragons trusted their riders absolutely, relied on them for guidance, just as riders needed their protection and instincts.

“I told Caudeth that we could take care of it,” she admitted quietly.

“And?” Ana sat next to her on the bed. “Did you ask Zarya for other riders? Did you tell her what was threatening the hold? Those people are not dragonriders. They are holders with flamethrowers. They were helpless. They counted on you for protection. That is the first thing we are taught as dragonriders, is it not? That is what I always taught my juniors.” Her tone was harsh as she leaned her elbows on her knees, the better to fix her good eye on Angela.

Angela’s shoulders slumped. She covered her mouth with one hand. “I tried to warn them, and get them out.” 

“And when you finally told Zarya what was happening, what did she do?”

Angela looked down to the floor. “She sent Fareeha and the others. Even though the fall was passing over the Weyr,” she murmured. “I...I…I don’t know what to say. What do you want me to say?”

Ana gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Say that you will learn from this. You will think long and hard on what you have done. You will accept your punishment. You will never let this happen again.”

“No,” Angela said, shaking her head. “No, this is never going to happen again.”

Ana’s eye fixed on her. There was a long silence. “Good,” she finally said, rising from the bed slowly. “I will see you in the morning.” Angela watched as she walked back out the way she’d come, dropping the cover on the glow basket as she went.


	5. Penance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela accepts her punishment for the destruction of the hold, but questions-and dangers-remain.

The earliest part of Angela’s morning was a blur. She woke. Ate a small meal. Bathed, dressed and re-dressed. Lena came to tell her the Benden and Igen weyrleaders had come to bear witness, as was only proper when a high ranking dragonrider was punished. Angela had been surprised to hear that Ramona had turned down the opportunity. If there was anyone who thought she deserved lashes for insubordination it was the weyrwoman who’d sent her to Overwatch in the first place. 

She’d been allowed to walk in alone, without an escort or guard. Zarya had suggested it and given Angela the impression that her punishment had been granted some greater significance. It wasn’t everyday that a goldrider was given lashes, never mind a hundred. The punishment would be completed in one of the empty weyrs and aside from their guests, only Fareeha, Zarya and J’son attended. Zarya had been excessively formal from the moment of her arrival, facing her to the wall before she requested Angela remove her shirt. Angela was the picture of remorse as she did so, letting the loose linen drop over a chair to one side. None of the men leered, which she appreciated.

In the weyrbowl she could sense Caudeth, crouched at the far end with Udjath, prickling with unease. She had done her best to soothe and explain to her dragon but the gold had been unable to fully understand what was going to happen. All she had grasped was that Angela would be hurt and she was not to come to her or fight any of the others over it.

As Zarya stepped up behind her and planted her feet, Angela faced the wall and reminded Caudeth to stay put. _It will not last long,_ she told the dragon. _I will be fine._ The gold’s response was a stream of concern and love, which Angela echoed back to her. That it would be such agony to Caudeth was her foremost concern. Her vanity had never usurped her love for her dragon. 

The first blow caused her to twitch forward. It hurt dully, but not as much as she’d expected it to. Zarya obviously wasn’t putting her full strength into it. The next crossed her shoulders, and she bore up under the strike. There was a murmur from the weyrleaders and she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Her will carried her through the third, fourth, fifth, tenth lash, but on the eleventh her arms shook so much she collapsed against the wall, hearing the twelfth strike go wide. She gritted her teeth and reminded Caudeth how much she loved her, dimly aware that the dragon was frantic but unable to move because of Udjath’s presence. 

By the twentieth blow, she had pressed her body into the wall. Her attempts to hold back tears had failed, She didn’t want to think of what her back must look like, could barely comprehend how it felt. Was she bleeding? She was dimly aware that all of the pain was concentrated across her shoulders and managed to be momentarily thankful that Zarya knew enough about the body not to accidentally kill her. Then the twenty-first blow hit and she yelped aloud.

The pain overwhelmed her, her inability to process it carrying her through the last half of the lashes. Tears ran down her face. Her back felt as though it was on fire. Every breath felt like daggers across her skin. She could hear the weyrleaders chatting as though they were bored with the whole endeavour. Caudeth railed against her pain and the dragon’s wild worry was only a partial comfort. She was only aware that Zarya had stopped when the pain in her back suddenly doubled, sending her cringing to her knees. 

“One sevenday,” she heard the Weyrwoman say gravely.

“We will return.” It had been a masculine voice, but Angela couldn’t lift her head to see whose. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for her agony. She lingered in pain until someone knelt next to her. 

“You go to your weyr now. We will take care of you.” Zarya slipped her arm around Angela’s waist and lifted her, unbothered by her weight. “Fareeha. The shirt.”

The distance to her weyr was short, not that she could focus on their journey. The next sensation she was aware of was being laid facedown on her bed. There was an overpowering smell of numbweed and fellis, then broad, strong hands began to work the medicine into her back. The relief brought her to tears all over again.

“There there.” Zarya sat next to the sleeping platform, washing her hands and drying them on a rag. She reached past Angela to draw the furs up over her hips. “You are strong. If you need water, say so. I will get you a cup.”

Angela pressed her face into the pillow, trying to form words, and passed out instead.

\-------------

When she regained consciousness, it was to the sound of a large sheet of paper being turned. Angela gasped as a dull throb rolled through her. A glow basket near her head was uncovered. 

“One deep breath.” Zarya’s voice was quiet. “Then you will drink water. Then numbweed.” 

Angela breathed harshly through her nose, feeling the shivers begin again. “Shock,” she chattered, almost pulling the furs up over her back.

Zarya's hand was gentle as she stopped Angela from moving the furs. “Yes. Is shock. So you take a deep breath, drink water, then numbweed for healing,” she repeated. “Try the breath.”

Angela felt the skin of her back protest as she began to inhale, but filled her lungs, then let the breath out slowly. Her back ached horribly by the time she was finished and she shoved her face into the pillow again to keep her tears under control. Zarya’s hand rested on her arm when she raised her head again. 

“Drink,” the Weyrwoman urged, holding a cup to Angela’s lips. When she tried to take the cup, Zarya moved it away from her hand. “Your hands shake,” she pointed out, holding the cup closer again. “Drink. Small sips.”

Angela lifted her head just enough to accept the water, feeling waves of agony ripple over her skin as she did. She drank the entire cup, however, and another when it was refilled. Zarya patted the back of her hand when she was done. 

“Are you cold?” Zarya asked, setting the cup aside.

“No,” Angela rasped. Her body shivered again as a counterpoint. 

“Is time for numbweed. Fellis too.” Zarya gently rumpled Angela’s hair, then opened a jar at the head of the bed. The herbal smell of the salve washed over her and she sighed. With a soft touch that was entirely unexpected given her size and usual attitude, the Weyrwoman slathered Angela’s back, the numbweed instantly relieving her pain. The shivering stopped and Angela rested her head on the pillow.

“Why are you here?” Angela asked as the medicine worked deeply into her muscles. “Why not a healer?”

There was silence for a moment as Zarya’s hands passed over her back again, then the Weyrwoman picked up a rag. “It is a simple job,” she answered, carefully wiping the salve off of her fingers. “And you are my junior. I take care of you.”

Angela closed her eyes. “You also whipped me.”

“That is taking care of you. Discipline,” Zarya said. “Not because I am angry. Because it is the correct way. Overwatch Weyr must not be as slack as the others are. We must communicate, work as a team. Rely on each other. You understand? Gold, blue, bronze, green, brown, is all the same here, all in the same wing, all in the same fight.” She studied Angela’s back in the light of the glows. “You take these lashes and then it is done, yes? No trials, no lord holder screaming at my door. We can say look, she has been punished, we have heard you. There is no arguing whether or not lashes have been given. Is clear. Obvious.”

Angela nodded, just once. “This is political.”

Zarya pinched her cheek and Angela opened her eyes to Zarya’s sober, contemplative expression. “We ride gold. Everything we do is politics. Feed a gold firestone? Political. Try to heal instead of negotiate tithes with holders? Political.” The short-haired woman patted Angela’s arm. “Fail to properly train a junior. Communicate poorly with junior.” She sighed. “Political. That is my fault. There has never been another active gold here. Only Ana and Udjath. I have not had anyone near equal to me in many years.”

Angela studied her, remembering as she looked into a face lined by scars and not age that Zarya was young. This was her weyr and she held it alone because of everything she and the riders who’d been assigned to her were-strange, wrong, broken. Discarded to the south. It had made Zarya strong, in body and purpose. That was clear in every decision she made. In spite of everything that had happened, Angela had to acknowledge that Ana was right. Zarya was correct in punishing her. She had subverted her weyrwoman’s authority during a Fall and because of their bickering, there had been delays. Deaths. Her back twinged, but without pain it was merely unpleasant. Tears flowed that had nothing to do with the beating.

“When you can walk again, we will have another meeting. We will make decisions. Things will be clear. We will work together, and Overwatch will be strong.” The Weyrwoman said quietly. “Until then, know that I am sorry for how I have failed. We will both do better.” Zarya measured a spoonful of fellis juice into a mug of water. “If you need this today, is alright. None tomorrow.”

Angela reached for the drink. She normally would not take such a potent painkiller, but between it and the numbweed she would sleep through the worst of the pain. “Blanket?” She murmured, before sipping the bitter herbal mix. Zarya pulled the furs closer around her body, careful to leave her back uncovered. She laid her head back down when the drink was done.

“Good sleep,” Zarya said, gently mussing her hair before returning to the wing chart she had been reviewing.

\-------------

On the third day, Angela finally left her weyr, able to wear a shirt to cover her aching back. She still needed the numbweed, but the pain had settled into a dull throb, some of the bruises already yellowing away. Zarya still came to tend to her morning and night, but she was mostly left to her own devices otherwise.

The weyrfolk and the holdfolk responded to her differently as she made her way to the mess hall. Riders mostly avoided her, and weyrfolk gave her sidelong looks. Holders, emboldened by gossip, carried it further. She overheard remarks about her leadership and her bedroom habits as she retrieved her food. A trio made certain to sit at the table next to hers, chatting in perky tones about how weak and pathetic she’d been during her lashes. 

“She begged the whole time,” one of them said, and Angela hunched her shoulders. 

“I heard she tried to bribe them.” Another’s tone was unmistakeably salacious. “Kept turning around, making eyes at the dragonmen.”

Angela strongly considered standing and moving, the lord holder’s voice ringing in her ears. Ninety six. Her fault. The people mocking her likely lost friends and family in the attack. She couldn’t very well blame them for taking their pain out on her. She sipped her klah and was just about to pick up her plate when she heard heavy boots scrape to a halt next to the table at her back.

“Is there a problem.” Fareeha’s voice held a note of ice.

She heard fidgeting and didn’t dare turn to look. “Just conversing, wingleader,” one of the folk offered.

“About?” Angela had heard that exact inflection when she’d passed by drills, just before the wingleader chastised one of the dragonriders for being careless.

“This and that,” another chimed in.

“You were discussing junior weyrwoman Angela’s punishment.” It was not an accusation, but a statement of fact. She heard the holders rustle uncomfortably in their seats.

“We were,” one of them admitted.

“She’s right here,” Fareeha said. “If you have questions, I do not think she would lie if you asked her what went on.”

Now Angela did turn. Fareeha stood at the head of the table, hands on her hips, her expression suggesting she was dealing with naughty weyrbrats and not a group of adults. The folk were of varying ages and as she turned about all three outright stared at her. They watched every stiff, painful motion when she faced them. “I wouldn’t,” she confirmed, looking past them to Fareeha. 

“Can we see?” The youngest asked, nodding in Angela’s direction. There was a touch of challenge in her voice. “Some’re saying she went light.”

Angela carefully raised one arm, pushing her shirt off of her shoulder. She turned as much as she could, showing them the dark pattern of bruises. The questioner’s eyes went wide. “Weyrwoman Zarya believes in discipline, not favoritism,” Angela said, pulling her shirt back up. 

“They said you only got four.” The woman shrank closer to the man next to her when both Fareeha and Angela looked at her. He fixed Fareeha with a challenging stare, then put his arm around his companion. 

“Fifty this sevenday, fifty next,” Angela answered, her eyebrow quirking at the strange gesture. Fareeha looked away from the pair, and Angela could see her jaw flexing. “If you have no further questions, the wingleader was joining me for lunch.”

All three of the holders looked at Fareeha for confirmation and after a moment she nodded an affirmative. “I was,” she said. “Good day.”

They mumbled an answering goodbye as Fareeha walked off to the serving table, then returned with a plate and mug. “Thank you,” Angela said as she sat. “You didn't have to defend me.”

Fareeha looked past her at the holders, just rising to leave. “They’re in our Weyr. Holdfolk they may be, but they are guests. Yesterday there was a fight when one of them accused J’Cree of corrupting their harper. I don’t want them to think it’s permissible to disrespect my wing.”

Angela turned as much as she was able, watching as the holdfolk meandered out of the mess hall. “Do they pester the riders often?”

Fareeha sipped her klah. “Whenever they see us. They have separate bathing areas, because of what happened when the riders came in from drill the day after the Fall. Half of my riders are officially barred from speaking with them after incidents. And Garth rises tomorrow. Zarya’s sure that will cause a panic-she’s been trying to convince Lord Gabriel to confine his people to quarters.”

“Has anyone flown to the Hold to assess the damage? I imagine they just want to go home.” Angela’s lips thinned as she tried to push back her guilt. They had tried. They had saved lives. She would bear the punishment for those they hadn’t.

“I sent Lena with Amelie to fly a short circle and report. Her first trip between in almost six turns.” Affection briefly showed through Fareeha’s usual professional mask. “I’m amazed you didn’t hear her yell when I assigned her.”

Angela’s expression instantly brightened. “She can manage it? It hasn’t been very long…”

“She works very hard.” 

Fiddling with her bread, Angela leaned forward over the table. “Will they look for those insects? Has someone spoken to the Hall about them yet?”

“Mei sent a message the day after Threadfall. They believe the plants and the insects are connected, though they have not seen any of the insects at their location. Lena and Amelie have orders to look for a dead one to bring back as a sample.” Fareeha looked at the tables on each side of them. “It is strange we haven’t seen them here.”

“I agree. Perhaps the dragons keep them away.”

Fareeha grunted agreement, still looking troubled by the thought. She turned her attention to her plate, tearing off a mouthful of bread to chew. “I have written you a schedule. Of when the greens rise. It won’t catch you off guard again.”

Angela’s cheeks colored. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Does Raptorath join often?” The question slipped out before Angela could reconsider it and she looked across the table, mortified. 

Dark splotches had risen on Fareeha’s face and she determinedly kept her eyes on her plate. “Only when I’m wanted,” she answered levelly. Her shoulders hunched and Angela thought of the holder possessively putting an arm around his wife when Fareeha spoke to them. Guilt of another sort prodded at her, memories of her awkward attempt at an apology arising. Only when she was wanted? Perhaps it had more to do with her command then her gender but Oxtoth’s flight and the awkwardness afterwards suggested it was the latter. If she was an invert, as her dragon’s choice of Impression suggested, she must be very lonely. A brown could fly a queen, but it was unlikely. Her position of authority could turn a few heads, just as it had Angela’s. Even among the greenriders there weren’t so many women who would consider encouraging another woman’s dragon to join their flight. Certainly even fewer who would request she remain afterwards.

Angela fumbled for something to say, a way to recover. “If you aren’t joining the flight tomorrow, would you accompany me to the hold? We can do a more thorough investigation.”

Fareeha paused, fork half-lifted. “Can you fly?”

Angela nodded, willing the blush out of her cheeks. “Caudeth desperately needs the exercise, and I have nothing else to do. If you’ll be free…”

“I will.” Fareeha’s eyes lingered and Angela was about to comment on their remarkable depth and color when she looked away again. “After morning drill.”

“It’s a date,” Angela said. As Fareeha coughed on the bite of sweet roll she’d just inhaled, Angela internally chastised herself, darting to her feet and fleeing the mess hall. 

\-------------

The air smelled of char and rot. It did not help that the dragons’ landing in the square stirred a wave of ash along the ground, bringing with it the stink that remained after the flame. Fareeha dismounted first, keeping her jacket and helmet on as she walked a circle around Raptorath. When nothing burst out of the silent buildings around them, she gestured to Angela.

 _Raptorath says it is clear,_ Caudeth relayed, already hunkering down as Angela pulled free of the straps. _I do not like this place._

 _Neither do I, Caudeth._ Angela slid to the ground, peering past the two dragons as though a wave of the insect horde would be summoned by her footsteps. She found herself looking down the alley that Raptorath had scorched, the ground and buildings blackened with soot. A few steps brought her to the beginning of the strip and she paused there. It looked smaller, diminished now that she saw it in reality instead of nightmares. The hold buildings had been made mostly of stone, especially in the central square. They had not collapsed in the flame, but everything that could burn did. 

She didn’t realise Fareeha was next to her until the wingleader stepped past, staring intently at the ground. Angela followed her, also peering down to see if there was anything remaining of the dead insects. They walked slowly along the scorched cobblestones, silent except for the scrape of their feet on the stone. Just past the midway point, Fareeha stopped suddenly, her body going stiff.

“I had a nightmare,” she murmured, pointing with one finger towards a huddled shape on the ground. “I...didn’t want to think it was true. I thought I saw something...someone…”

Angela saw the way her back flexed and her chest heaved, then Fareeha lunged to the side and vomited onto the wall. She cringed away as Angela approached, so instead the woman moved past her, towards the heap. Let it not be a person, she thought to herself. By the first egg, let it not be a person. Making sure her gloves were tight on her hands, Angela crouched next to the shape, touching it gently along what looked like a ribcage. It moved loosely, its flesh obliterated in the flames, but as the ash of its former body shook free, she saw that it was distinctly not human shaped. 

“Fareeha,” she said gently. The response was a choked sound midway between a sob and a cough. “It is not a person.”

“What?” She heard Fareeha’s boots scuff, then two quick steps before the wingleader leaned over her shoulder. “No…I know what I saw…”

“A canine,” Angela said, using her other hand to push away some ash, revealing the long, narrow skull. “One of the desert hunting hounds.”

Fareeha’s breathing was heavy and her hand suddenly landed on Angela’s shoulder. “A canine,” she echoed, gripping. “I…”

“You did not kill anyone.”

Fareeha made a choked sound but by the time Angela had spun to her feet, the wingleader had bolted halfway back to Raptorath. Angela took a step after her, but stopped herself from going much further. Though she wanted to comfort the other woman, she also didn’t want to intrude on her moment of relief. Instead she cast a look back to the other end of the alley.

And saw movement. 

“Fareeha,” she said quietly, taking a step back. There was no response from the wingleader. _Caudeth. There is something else here._ She heard the dragons shifting about in the square but remained focused on the end of the alley. What had she seen? It didn’t glint like a bug. She had seen those carapaces in her sleep too many times to forget. It had been big, however, and moving fast-

“Do you not carry a belt knife?” Fareeha hissed next to her ear. Angela yelped in surprise. “Quiet,” the brownrider added, clasping her hand over Angela’s mouth. She pulled the goldrider against her chest, holding her knife out in front of both of them. “When I say so, run to Caudeth,” she whispered into Angela’s ear. “Get into the sky. I will guard your escape and Raptorath will come to me.”

There was no movement this time but there was sound, a distant scrambling just out of sight. Angela nodded, wishing for the first time that she did carry a belt knife and resolving to Immediately obtain one the moment they were back at the Weyr. She was just bending her knees to prepare to run when a shape flashed across the far end of the alley. Fareeha all but threw Angela behind herself, moving low and fast for the shape. Though she was taken by surprise by the suddenness of it all, Angela did turn and sprint as hard as she could for her dragon. 

_Caudeth, we fly,_ she announced and the gold rushed towards the alley. Angela timed her grab perfectly, catching her straps as Caudeth pivoted past. The dragon lunged into the air, Angela just managing to anchor herself as Caudeth took them high off of the ground. Her back spasmed, but she immediately craned her neck back, looking for Fareeha and Raptorath below. 

The brown had moved when Caudeth did, stalking along one edge of the square. For such a bulky creature, he moved with great delicacy as he climbed one of the crumbling buildings, his wedge shaped head poking down in between. Caudeth brought them around in a tight circle and Angela finally spotted Fareeha, standing with her hands braced on the doorway of one of the few intact buildings. As Angela passed, she could see Fareeha gesturing.

 _Caudeth, ask if there is a person down there?_ Angela stood in her straps, looking out past the dragon's wings at the scorched hold buildings. Had they abandoned someone to this misery? More than one? As she looked to the western gate she saw something glint. Lena and Amelie had not reported seeing anything so reflective on their circle. 

_Raptorath says there is a girl. She has a strong mind._ The dragon paused. _She yells._

 _I saw something at the western gate,_ Angela suggested. _Does Raptorath know if there are others?_

They swept towards the western gate, diving low towards the open patch of ground there. _Raptorath says the girl is alone,_ Caudeth informed her, suddenly using her wings to check their descent. _He says there are the other things here!_

In Caudeth’s shadow, Angela spied a sudden surge of insects, shells broken and pulsing in the sunlight. _Higher,_ she urged the dragon, pulling open the bag that held her flamethrower. “Sharding scorched blasted thing,” she added aloud as she yanked it free and strapped it to her body. _Tell Raptorath._

_Raptorath’s is trapped,_ Caudeth immediately informed her as Angela triggered the flame. _He cannot reach his firestone sack._ The rider unleashed a short spurt of fire at the seething mass below them, then urged her dragon around. 

_We go to Raptorath’s,_ Angela told Caudeth. _Find a roof to land on and I will use the fire to make a path._ The dragon agreed, suddenly tucking her wings to arrow them towards what had once been a warehouse. The brown was clinging to a building across the street, trying to keep his balance as the stonework crumbled under his weight. _Where?_ Angela asked Caudeth as they landed, mindful of the way the building groaned underneath them. After a moment Raptorath stretched his neck towards the low slung building Fareeha had been standing in the doorway of. An army of the insects clamoured at the door and climbed the windows, prevented from getting inside by the heavy threadproof shutters. 

“Fareeha?” Angela pulled herself out of the saddle when Caudeth landed, aiming her flamethrower down at the horde. “I’m here.” She considered their options, then blasted three short bursts around the door of the building. “I’ll clear the path. Raptorath will tell you when to run!” 

There was a muffled answer, which Angela took as an affirmative. She began to rain fire on the bugs, pushing them away from the door with deliberate stripes of flame. Her back spasmed at the sudden effort and she had to take a moment to breathe in between bursts. Finally, the door was able to swing open, freeing the wingleader and a girl who was eighteen turns at most from their confinement. Raptorath dropped into the street, holding his wings high to avoid clobbering his rider and her charge. Angela only got a glimpse of the girl’s long hair and patchwork armour before Fareeha lifted her bodily towards Raptorath, clambering aboard before the girl had properly seated herself. “Up!” She shouted. Raptorath discarded delicacy, clawing his way to the height of the nearest building and hurling himself awkwardly skyward. 

Angela shut off her flame, got her foot in one of the straps, then hoisted herself up as well. Her only warning that all was not going to plan was a sudden screaming creak, then the roof underneath Caudeth’s feet caved in. The dragon squawked in surprise, trying to right herself, but they fell directly into the warehouse in a cloud of ash and soot. Angela heard Raptorath bellow above and immediately responded by reassuring Caudeth she was fine, though she had been thrown free of her dragon when they’d landed. Her back burned in counterpoint to her assertion, so she shrugged off the flamethrower and looked around. 

By the look of it, it had been a warehouse for food supply, much of it untouched by the flames. Along the walls and what was left of the roof hung pods that Angela initially took for cheese or meat curing. Then one of them pulsed and writhed in her direction and she recoiled. _We need to go,_ Angela insisted to Caudeth, and the dragon began to adjust how she was standing under the hole they’d made. Angela walked backwards towards her, watching the floor and the walls in the vain hope they’d gone unnoticed.

Not wanting to, but needing to know, Angela looked at the debris that had landed just out of the damaged area their Fall had produced. The scattered bones and skulls she saw there were all the confirmation she needed-a hatching chamber, like the one at the Weyr, but without the warmth and safety. Caudeth’s eyes whirled red in her peripheral vision, and Angela grabbed for her straps. _We fly,_ Caudeth told her, though a grotesquely organic tearing sound drew Angela’s attention before she could respond.

Just past Caudeth’s head, one of the sacs had ripped. Inside, something the size of a small child heaved itself through the tear. Fur or hair or Faranth only knew what stuck up in every direction as the thing shoved itself from its casing, tumbling to the floor with a heavy thwack. Angela heard another begin to her side, and swung her leg across Caudeth’s neck. _Fly, fly, fly oh shells fly,_ she said, unable to hide her panic from the dragon. The gold jumped at the wall, then used her grip to propel herself up and away. 

“BURN IT,” Angela screamed as she saw Raptorath dip low towards them. Whether Fareeha had anticipated this or not, the brown was already inhaling as the gold climbed past him. The backdraft of his firebreathing tightened the skin on Angela’s neck. There was an explosion shortly after, her discarded flamethrower adding to the fire below. 

_I am scorched,_ Caudeth told her, and Angela’s heart thumped painfully. 

_Between,_ she replied, looking back just before the dragon took her to the darkness. Raptorath was wheeling back for another blast and she could just see the girl clinging to Fareeha’s back. Then everything went black and cold. 

\-------------

They emerged over the herdbeast pen, swooping low to land near some riders working on their gear. Angela threw off her helmet and leapt from Caudeth’s neck. “Does anyone have numbweed? She’s scorched,” she called to them, causing the lot of them to scramble to their feet and rummage in their packs. Ignoring the searing pain in her own back, Angela ran her hand along her dragon, marching from her head to her flank. 

“Oi, Angie, hold up,” she heard Lena call just as a spray of ichor erupted from Caudeth’s tail. The dragon keened and Angela’s head rang with sudden sharp pain. 

_It bites!_ Caudeth exclaimed. Her riders eyes widened in horror and she sprinted towards the source of the pain as the other riders scrambled away. She heard them shouting curses and questions at her, but she was too focused on her dragon to listen to what they were saying. Angela found the wound midway along Caudeth’s tail, a circular puncture that was both bite and scorch. A few light patches of foam remained around the edges and Angela gasped at the sight. 

_Oh no, Caudeth,_ she said, trying to project calm. She bent over the tail and as she tried to get a closer look at the injury, something flopped against her boot. She jolted away, kicking at what turned out to be one of the hairy creatures from the storehouse. It’s circular mouthpart shaved a slice of the leather covering her ankle away and she gave a wordless scream of anger and fright in response. “I need a knife!” She shouted at the riders.

For the space of a breath there was no answer and she was just rounding on them to make it an order when one of the flaying knives used by the beastcrafters flew past her, embedding itself in the creature’s jaws. It shuddered and died instantly, Caudeth’s ichor leaking from its mouth. Angela looked in the direction the knife had come from, finding Amelie standing there with her head slightly tilted. “Someone call Zarya. Call Ana. Get everyone down here right away,” she said, trying to recover her wits amidst her worry for her dragon. “GO.”

Lena moved first, pulling on her chest protection and mouthpiece and leaping astride Oxtoth’s neck to fly to the weyrwoman's weyr. “Where is the Wingleader?” J’Cree asked, offering a dragonhealing pack to Angela.

“She...she stayed to burn the place we found those things. She’s not in any danger. We found a girl,” Angela stammered, already rummaging through the kit. Numbweed, antiseptics, dressings-she pulled out everything she needed, mentally crooning apologies and reassurances to her dragon as she approached the injured tail.

“There was still someone there?” J’Cree stepped up alongside her, laying his hands on Caudeth’s tail to steady her while Angela worked. “We looked through the whole place, I swear we did, goldrider. There was nobody left.”

Angela flooded the cleaned wound with numbweed, then began attaching the bandage. Thank Faranth that Caudeth was a quick healer. “I didn’t get to speak with her. Fareeha has her,” she explained. J’Cree almost questioned her further, but Aleksath came in for a landing just then and he scrambled to back away from Angela. She looked up from her work for a moment, spotting the two elder bronzes and Ana’s stately gold gliding towards Caudeth as well.

“Where is it?” Zarya asked and Angela pointed with her foot. “How did it follow you?”

“We fell through a roof into a nest,” Angela explained, testing the bandage to make sure it was secure. “I think it grabbed Caudeth while we were escaping.”

The other three dragons landed, their riders hurrying to join the two weyrwomen. “Hm, so it is a bug,” J’son commented, unslinging a backpack and setting it on the ground next to the dead creature. R’Hardt and Ana approached Angela, who braced herself just in time for another of the retired bronzerider’s exuberant hugs.

“She will be fine,” he announced, possibly to Angela, possibly as a general reassurance to the riders around them. Those who still lingered began gathering their things, talking amongst themselves. Only J’Cree hesitated, finally speaking when Ana shot him a look.

“Fareeha’s still not back,” he pointed out, bowing his head and nodding to Angela. “She said she’s okay, but…” he trailed off, scuffing a boot on the ground before turning to pick up his things as well.

Ana rounded on Angela, who was only just being released by R’Hardt. “She’s still there? You left her?” she demanded, looking Angela and Caudeth over. Her voice was sharp as she approached the younger goldrider. “Where is your flamethrower? What happened?”

“We went to investigate the hold, to see if there was anything left of the insects so we could learn more about them,” Angela explained, looking up to the sky as she backed towards Caudeth. “Something was moving. Fareeha told me to fly, to help her find it, and she followed it to a house. It was a girl, but I don’t know who or how-” she cut herself off, realizing she was rambling. Zarya had hunkered down next to J’son, R’hardt was looking at Caudeth’s injury but Ana was staring directly at Angela. “The insects came back. Fareeha hid in a house with the girl and I used my flamethrower to hold the insects back until they could escape to Raptorath. While I was trying to take off with Caudeth, the roof we were on collapsed. We got out. Fareeha told us to leave. I thought she was with us.”

Ana’s glare cut right through Angela. “She stayed. She does that,” the older woman huffed. “You didn’t order Raptorath to follow?”

Angela opened her mouth to deny that she could have, then shut it. Of course she could have ordered them back. Raptorath would have obeyed Caudeth, even if Fareeha wanted to remain. “I thought she was with us,” she repeated lamely, resting her palm on Caudeth’s flank to ease her rapidly growing worry. The wingleader should have returned by now. The girl did not look heavy and Fareeha was already in the sky when Angela had left-they were in no danger, not with a fully stocked bag of firestone and an adult fighting dragon.

So where were they?

J’son used his knife to shove the bug into his bag, then climbed aboard his dragon and took off back towards the weyr. Zarya rose to her feet, looking between Ana and R’hardt before turning her attention to Angela. “I will gather two other riders and we will go. See what our wingleader is doing. You will take Caudeth to your weyr, see to her wound. Make notes. Ana, R’Hardt, draft letters to healers, harpers and beastcrafters halls. I want to know if this has been seen before.” The older riders gave her a sharp nod, though Ana’s eyes did not leave Angela. They dispersed to their dragons, leaving the two weyrwomen alone. “It had wings,” Zarya said quietly to Angela, looking off towards the Weyr. “They can fly.”

Angela’s eyes widened. Fareeha was in more danger than either of them thought. “I didn’t-we didn’t know-” She picked up the dragonhealing kit and slung it over her shoulder. “I’m coming with you.”

“Caudeth is injured. No,” Zarya answered, turning and walking towards Aleksath. Angela's heart slammed in her chest. She had to go back. She had to help Fareeha. 

“Zarya. If Fareeha is hurt, you will need me close, not far. It’s only her tail. Caudeth can fly.” The gold arched her neck, her eyes whirling faint red. Angela forced herself to ignore the twinge in her back. The wingleader needed her. “Please. If she needs a healer and I’m not there,..”

Zarya waved a hand. “Yes. Fine. We leave in ten ticks.”

 _Do you need to eat?_ Angela asked Caudeth as Zarya took off. The dragon tested her tail and responded in the negative. _Please tell Oxtoth to tell hers to bring me a medical kit._

She hoped Lena was one of those Zarya chose. A fast, light green might be able to find something the larger dragons couldn’t. As she waited, she looked over her flight gear, checked her straps, struggled to keep herself focused on not just climbing aboard Caudeth and returning right this second. If the insects were airborne, they had to have ambushed Fareeha moments after Angela had returned to the weyr. Going back unarmed and alone would be suicide. 

_Aleksath's asks if we are ready,_ Caudeth prompted her, and Angela hooked her foot into the straps. 

_Did Oxtoth's bring the kit?_ She belted herself in, shoving the dragonhealing kit into the spot she usually carried her flamethrower. 

_Yes,_ Caudeth answered, taking off the moment she felt Angela was secured. They glided to the muster point, landing alongside Oxtoth and J’Cree’s Dedeyeth. Zarya was securing firestone bags to Aleksath’s saddle, and barely looked up as Angela arrived.

“J’Cree and I sweep low. Lena, you stay high up with Angela until you are needed.” Zarya tightened the last belt. “Angela. You will not land unless I say so.”

Lena, already astride Oxtoth, waved to get Angela’s attention, then hurled a healers kit at her head. Angela ducked, catching it before it hit Caudeth and fell. “Bet this’ll be a story,” Lena commented to J’Cree, her voice sounding alien behind her mask. 

J’Cree rolled his shoulder, gripping his straps with his good hand. “Bet this’ll be a mess,” he replied, shifting his weight.

Zarya hoisted herself aboard Aleksath, tossing a chunk of firestone to the dragon. “There is no betting,” she said bluntly. “You will be alert and paying attention. We must bring the Wingleader back.”

“Yes’m,” both of the other riders said. 

Angela sat high in her saddle, gripping her straps and wishing as hard as she could that they would not need her. She took a deep breath when Zarya took off, ordering Caudeth after her. Her pulse raced with fear at what they would find once they’d passed through between, but she followed without hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to drop this here and thank everyone once more for reading. I really appreciate all of your interest, and I hope you are enjoying yourselves!


	6. Rising Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for the wingleader continues as Angela comes to understand Overwatch and accept her role in the Weyr.

_Raptorath is not here,_ Caudeth repeated as she winged towards what had once been the lord holder’s roof. _I do not hear him._

Angela thought she might just scream if Caudeth told her that one more time. The dragon landed carefully, choosing the most sturdy seeming spot. Angela leaned back in the saddle, looking up as Lena and J’Cree executed yet another long circle overhead. _But he isn’t dead,_ Angela replied one more time. _He isn’t between. He is alive. We just don’t know where._ The sun was beginning to set and they’d still found no trace of Fareeha, her dragon or the holder girl. It made no sense, especially since both queens insisted Raptorath was alive. 

They had arrived to smoke and ash in the streets and no sign of the brown. The storehouse had still been ablaze. Their sweeps had found not a single living thing, even when Lena landed at the western gate. Zarya had ordered them on further and further circles, seeking any sign at all of her wingleader, but the search had been fruitless. There had been a single attempt made to dismiss Angela. She had ignored it. Zarya could give her another dozen lashes. She would not return without Fareeha, dead or alive. 

_He and his are not dead,_ Caudeth insisted. Angela leaned against her dragon, arms crossed, trying for the fifteenth time since they arrived to think through what must have happened. It had to have been incredibly fast-she had seen Fareeha fight thread and run drills, and the dragonpair were almost as quick to react as Lena or Amelie. It had to have come from the sky, since Raptorath and Fareeha had been flaming the insects on the ground and would have seen something coming from that direction. There was no immediate sign of flying insects, but she had no reason to believe they’d have remained when their prey was gone.

A sudden bugle dragged her back to the present. To the south, Oxtoth was spiralling to the ground. _Caudeth?_

_There are straps._ Angela dug her heels into Caudeth’s neck, and the dragon lurched skyward. _Oxtoth says they are Raptoraths._

Ahead, J’Cree and Zarya had joined Lena on the ground. Angela urged Caudeth down next to them, unbelting herself and falling off of the dragon in her hurry. “Is she here?” Angela called as she scrambled to her feet. Lena grimaced as she held up one of the straps in reply. It was severed just before the buckle and when it was raised, the rest of the equipment fell to the ground. “Shells…”

J’Cree paced around the mess that had once been the wingleaders flying equipment. “S’blood on this one,” he said, pointing to the saddle by his feet. “Not a lot though.” He backed away, looking at the field around them.

Angela walked past him, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets and stopping short of the tangle of leather. “It was cut?”

Zarya picked up another belt. “Chewed. No blade marks,” she announced, turning back towards her dragon. “They were going south. But flying.”

Lena scuffed her foot on the ground, peering into the edge of the forest as though the dragon might be lurking between the trees. “Why didn’t she go between, then? That’s lesson one, you get tagged by something, you shake it off with the cold.”

J’Cree paced back towards them. “Think they did. Look. Lotta ichor here’n there. See it?” He pointed to a green spatter just past Zarya, then another marking one of the trees. “And then nothing.”

“Then why didn’t she make it to the Weyr?” Angela’s outburst drew all of their attention. “She was bleeding, she had no straps, not even her saddle? If she went between, she wouldn’t have gone anywhere else, for Raptorath’s safety!” She kicked the straps with frustration. Zarya held out a hand to her, giving her a warning look.

“Less she wasn’t the one doin’ the guiding,” Lena suggested. “She had a holder with her. Some of them have never been to the Weyr. What if something knocked Fareeha cold? Raptorath’d want to get away, no Zarya, no other dragons around to cue off of, panicking, he’d take whatever heading he could get, yeah?”

Angela shook her head, but Zarya stepped closer to Lena, looking thoughtfully into the forest. “And if the girl was a technocrafter… Did you see a knot, Angela?”

“It all happened too fast,” Angela answered. “I didn’t get a good look at her.”

“Technocrafters take runners back and forth to the hold sometimes,” J’Cree mused, looking off into the woods as well. “Might’ve been she was riding up from the south when the bugs came. If she ran to the hold after we were gone...”

Zarya clapped a hand on Lena’s shoulder. “You and Angela go to the hall. If they are there, we will bring them home. If not...we will find her. J’Cree, with me. You are wingsecond, you will report this to the wing. Go. The sooner we find them, the better.”

\-------------

Taking her second round of lashes was nothing compared to the ache of failure. Angela sat cross legged next to Caudeth on her ledge, staring to the west as the dragon watched to the south. The riders back roared with pain, mitigated by occasional sips from the fellis laced wine bottle at her side.

Fareeha had not been found. Angela and Lena had flown until they couldn’t see, searching the thick jungle for signs of Raptorath and his rider. It was like looking for a thorn in a herdbeast pen. Angela had returned the next day and the day after that, and if it weren’t for Ana and Zarya ordering her to remain at the weyr for the last phase of her punishment, she would have left that day as well. The riders had hung Raptorath’s straps off of the edge of her weyr during their vigil on the second day. Angela could see them waving in the breeze from her ledge. 

The Weyr moved on. It had to. J’Cree took command of the wing. Zarya began to drill with them in Fareeha’s place. The dragons refused to keen for their fallen leader and the best the riders could get from them was exactly as Caudeth had told Angela. Raptorath was not between. They just couldn’t find him. The riders had grieved regardless. 

It had been two days since the vigil. The riders no longer called her Angie, if they spoke with her at all. She had abandoned their beloved Wingleader to an uncertain fate. She was a pariah and she did not object. At Fort she had been one of a half dozen juniors, bored of looking pretty and being shuffled like a pawn between this negotiation and that duty. There had been no pressure. Less than a month at Overwatch, the hold had burned, the wingleader was missing and she had taken a hundred lashes. She would have washed Ramona’s boots with her tongue to be allowed to return to the boredom of Fort. She was a disaster and the longer she stayed, the more harm she would do. Perhaps Zarya would grant her a transfer to somewhere she could go back to being useless. Where people wouldn’t rely on her so much, and therefore she couldn’t be such a disappointment.

She reached for the wine to take a drink, but it was not there. Looking around, she finally spotted it in Amelie’s hands. The bluerider stood in the shadowiest part of the ledge, staring contemplatively at the bottle. Though she was armored as usual, her faceplate had been removed. She looked for all the world as though this was her weyr and Angela was the unwelcome guest. Angela glared at her, her eyes burning with exhaustion. She extended her hand towards the rider.

Amelie stared her right in the eyes as she raised the bottle to her lips and took a long swig. 

“Give it back,” Angela said, leaning back against her dragon. Amelie blinked slowly. 

“When I was a little girl,” she intoned, “I was a weaver. I fell in a vat. They were happy when the weyr took me.” It was the most Angela had ever heard Amelie say to anyone. “When I was a weyrling, they told me I matched my dragon. Some of them dyed my things blue.” She held the bottle over the ledge. “When my weyrmate died, they told me to leave.” Amelie looked at the bottle. “When I came here…” She tilted her head and the bottle at the same time, pouring the drugged wine to the ground below. “Ana told me I was not allowed to give up.”

Angela frowned, trying to understand the point. “So they found you a place at the hold?” she guessed, feeling the throb in her back reach her head. She wished Amelie hadn’t poured out the wine-she would have to get more, which meant dealing with Zarya and those disappointed faces in the mess hall.

“I clawed out her eye.” Amelie set the bottle down. “Some people are not even fit for Overwatch. One of them is you.” She stared a moment longer, then stepped out of the shadow and grabbed a rope that had been dangling just out of Angela’s sight. Amelie climbed it, hand over hand, to the ledge above. The last Angela heard her say before she was gone was, “Lord Gabriel sends his regards.”

Angela watched the rope disappear, clenching her jaw. Behind her, Caudeth’s eyes whirled red.

\-------------

A storm threatened to roll in overhead but Angela was nearly done her work. She sat in the field at the farthest edge of the weyrbowl, awl in one hand, her new straps in the other. She worked methodically, punching holes in the leather at every marked point. She could have done this in her weyr, but…she looked up at Caudeth, soaring through the sky alone. If she could have set the dragon free without harm, she would have. The gold was so beautiful, so powerful and confident, nothing like her pained and ruined rider. Amelie was right. Caudeth deserved better than Angela’s arrogance and hubris. Overwatch deserved better too. She should take Caudeth off to the jungle, relieve everyone of the burden of dealing with her and her poor judgement. It would certainly make the holders and about half of the Weyr happy to see the back of her. She punched another hole in the straps, looking down and away.

_I do not want to go to the jungle. It is itchy. And you are Mine._ The dragon's voice was firm. She pushed encouragement to Angela, who shed a tear at her dragon's love. _I would not have picked you if you were not worthy of being Mine._

_I know, Caudeth._ Angela held up her work, eyeing it critically, then laid it to the side with the other finished pieces.

_You are good and intelligent. You care for people. That is what I want and need from Mine._ The dragon dove towards the herdbeast pen, singling out a lean animal and striking it true. She wrapped her jaws around its limp neck and took off again, dragging it over the fence. Batting it until it was positioned just so, she dug into its body at the belly. Blood sprayed across her chest and face and Angela wondered if any other dragon was such a messy eater. _Wilheth comes. He cannot have my herdbeast,_ was Caudeth’s only answer.

“Angela!” The bronze dragon landed gracelessly, R’Hardt sliding off of his back and giving him a hearty thump on the shoulder. “How are you my dear?”

Angela considered, just for a moment, telling him what she had been thinking about. She forced a smile instead, raising a hand in greeting. Her healing back twinged. “I am well,” she answered, expecting to be yanked up into a hug

R’Hardt clasped her hand instead, then sat down next to her. “Ana told me to come visit you,” he explained. “Well...she told me to go bother someone else and let her concentrate on finding Raptorath and you were the first person I saw! That’s almost the same thing!” Chuckling, he watched Wilheth as the old bronze studied the herdbeast pen, then leapt into the sky to choose his lunch. 

“It’s good to see you,” Angela said. 

_Wilheth is looking at my herdbeast,_ Caudeth complained. 

_He has his own,_ Angela chided. R’Hardt watched his dragon thump down companionably next to the gold, who seized her prey by one leg and dragged it away from him. 

“Greedy thing, isn’t she?” he commented with a booming laugh.

“She is sulking because…” Angela trailed off, looking down at her awl. Suddenly it was all too heavy. She wanted so much to unburden herself on someone. “I was thinking of leaving,” she murmured, half hoping he wouldn’t hear her.

R’Hardt continued observing their dragons munching through their food. “Not the worst plan anyone’s ever come up with. It’s how we founded this place to begin with!” He smirked, then shook his head. “We were young fools back then, but look how it all turned out!”

Angela looked at him, wondering at the genuine pride in his face. R’Hardt genuinely loved this Weyr of washouts and wounded. “You probably had better reasons,” she said, looking back at Caudeth. The dragon was gnawing enthusiastically at the hind leg of her herdbeast. Overhead, the clouds were darkening. 

“Well...Ana likely did. I was a little flummoxed by her charms.” He jostled Angela with an elbow. “Still am, now that I mention it.” Her smile was small, but present. “I followed her. She and J’Son, they were the brains behind the whole thing. She was stuck as a junior, no promotion or transfer in sight. J’Son had just taken that blow to the head trying to impress some twirlskirt girl. Couldn’t see half a blazing foot in front of his face without Morth. So what did we have to lose? What could they do to us if we headed to the south and kept fighting Thread?” He sighed. “Oh how I wish I could still fly a fall, Angela. The wind in your face, ash all around, the wing hurling flame front and back! Catching a clump just before it sears your friends, sheltering the greens, showing off for the golds...”

Angela’s shoulders sagged. She remembered Fareeha and Raptorath weaving through the other dragons, rolling and diving to scorch Thread and reload as though they’d never set foot on the ground in their lives. The wingleader had been magnificent and now she was gone. She leaned her shoulder into R’Hardt’s side and he draped his arm around her. “Do you think Fareeha’s dead?” she asked him.

“No,” he rumbled. “Fareeha is too stubborn to die.” R’Hardt rubbed her arm. “And I think you are too stubborn to run away.”

Amelie’s blank expression bubbled back to Angela’s mind. “What if I’m wrong for this place? What if it is my fault? Ninety-six people are dead because of me.”

R’Hardt inhaled deeply, then turned to face her, putting his hands on her shoulders. The first spatters of rain fell around them. “You belong here, Angela. We need your knowledge and your spirit. It’s horrible that the hold burned. It is awful that those people died. You accepted what you did, so there’s no point letting the guilt anchor you in the past. Remember it, swear you’ll never let it happen again, then get back in the straps and fly against Thread once more! Overwatch Weyr is about doing our duty, no matter who we are or what we’ve done in the past. We are still dragonriders, we can still fight, and by the first egg we can rebuild.” He squeezed her biceps. “You know you can’t argue with me. I founded this Weyr.”

She rubbed a hand over her face, nodding. “I guess I’ll just have to try,” she said. 

“I have a feeling you’ll succeed, my girl,” he said, letting her go. 

\-------------

A pounding fist on her door was a rude awakening indeed. Angela woke with a start, grunting at the pain that wove across her shoulders. “What is it?” she called.

The door burst open, admitting Zarya. The weyrwoman was half out of her nightdress, half into her riding leathers, a sight that startled Angela to her feet. She was wild-eyed, her short hair sticking up in every direction. “Raptorath,” Zarya said. “I hear him.”

Angela felt as though the breath had been squeezed out of her. “He’s alive?” she asked, now wide awake. Caudeth jolted out on the ledge, huffing disapproval at the late hour. “Where are they, we have to go find them.” She pulled down her own jacket, slinging it around her shoulders and hissing when the muscles spasmed.

“Can you fly?” Zarya asked, picking up a medical bag. “Or should she be brought to you?”

Angela shucked her sleeping pants, dragging on her leathers in their place. “I will come with you, in case she needs to be treated before she can be moved. Who else?”

“Two queens is enough. We can call more if there is a need.”

As she shoved her hair into a ponytail, Angela mused that in any other Weyr the only two queenriders would not be undertaking this mission. She thought back to Amelie on her ledge two nights earlier, what she had said and what Angela had been thinking just before she arrived. She would have been safe in her bed if she were back at Fort, letting other riders take these risks while she wrung her hands and gave an inspiring speech to the healers. She thought of what R’Hardt had said, what the price of that comfort and ease could be. Raptorath was alive. Fareeha might be too. She was needed here, even if it was only for this.

She pulled on her helmet and strapped it. “Make sure you are ready to fight,” she said, taking the bag from Zarya’s hands. “Caudeth may be able to lift Raptorath, but if the insects are there…”

“I have two bags of firestone,” Zarya replied. “She will chew before we fly.” With an expert look, she checked over Angela’s armor. There was part of her nightshirt sticking out from under the jacket and her hair was only mostly under her helmet, but this was not threadfall. It would do. She turned a circle, and Angela nodded approval.

“I’ll see you in the bowl,” Angela said, striding to her dragon.

Aleksath landed alongside Caudeth a few ticks later, both of them facing south as the final minute preparations were made. “I have woken J’Cree,” Zarya called to Angela. “He will notify the healers.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

They took off, both dragons climbing effortlessly into the dark sky. Angela urged Caudeth to take her heading from Zarya, holding tight to her as they went between. She didn’t think of her exhaustion or her pain. She thought of saving Fareeha, her only priority.

The golds emerged in the night sky, silent as they could be. Some distance away, Angela could see torchlight under the trees, waving to and fro. 

_Aleksath’s says the Hall is not usually awake at this time,_ Caudeth informed her. _Something is happening._

Zarya was already guiding her dragon in a long curve towards the lights. _Should we look for Raptorath?_ Angela asked. Caudeth relayed the message, then delivered Zarya’s affirmative to her rider. 

_Aleksath trusts us to find them._

With that they dove low. There was minimal communication between them as they skimmed the top of the trees. Angela could feel all of Caudeth's concentration searching for Raptorath, until suddenly she flared her wings and checked their speed. _He is here,_ she told her rider, and Angela craned her neck to look at the ground below. They had never travelled this far in their searches before-it hadn’t seemed likely that Fareeha or her dragon would have chosen to fly so deep into the jungle.

At first she could see nothing but trees, until one of Caudeth's wingbeats rustled them aside. In the shadow below she could just make out a large shape in the underbrush. _Can you land?_ Angela asked Caudeth. The dragon flapped, grasping at the trees with her claws. At first she tried a precise landing, but the branches waved too much and she had to take off again. She finally managed to find a copse of trees that would support her and Angela climbed down carefully.

The jungle was quiet all around her, no surprise considering Caudeth loomed overhead. She pushed her way through, orienting herself with the dragon’s suggestions. Finally, she shoved her way through a heavy patch of ferns and found herself in an open space. The trees on all sides were spattered with dried ichor. Some were marked with blood. Dead insects littered the edges of the clearing, all of them torn to pieces. To one side, Raptorath was slumped. The brown was nearly unrecognizable as a dragon, much less as himself. Angela could see his bones and muscles standing out underneath his slick, slimy hide. Where it wasn’t coated with ooze, she could see hundreds of tiny injuries. 

He breathed shallowly, one wing partially extended. The dragon blinked as she approached and made a faint wheezing sound. His eye glittered balefully in the dark, grey as a stone. “Raptorath,” she said, her voice breaking as she touched his flank. His wing flexed further and he tried to lift his head. “Oh Faranth, Raptorath…”

“Don’t touch him.” The voice came from under his wing, raspy and weak but defiant. “Get back.”

Angela ducked under Raptorath’s wing at the verge of panic, finding Fareeha curled into a ball against the dragon’s side. “Fareeha?”

“Hana should’ve told you to tell the Weyr where I am,” the rider rambled, pushing her face against her dragon. “Just tell them where I am.”

“Fareeha, it’s Angela.” Her hands shook as she dropped the medical kit to the ground and knelt next to her.

“Angela’s safe.” Fareeha shuddered, and Angela looked her over. She was dangerously thin, and the lower half of her left leg was tied between two hacked down branches. Her flying gear was mostly gone, and what was left was torn. “Tell Zarya i’m sorry.”

“No, Fareeha, I’m Angela.” Angela took a deep breath and steadied herself for what came next. Fareeha was in bad shape, but she needed to remain calm as she assessed her. She moved closer, reaching out to touch Fareeha’s shoulder. Her skin was clammy with sweat, and Angela could feel the heat of her fever. “I came to get you and Raptorath. And the girl.”

“Where’s Hana? Hana found you. She brought you? Good.”

Angela took off her flight jacket, then stripped off her night shirt. She put the jacket back on, taking a moment to tell Zarya what she was seeing, then ever so gently began to guide Fareeha onto her back on the ground. She used the nightshirt as a pillow, trying to make her comfortable. “Hana is the girl? She ran to the hall?” She asked, moving Fareeha’s hair out of her eyes.

“I gave her my knife. Won’t need it.”

“You’re wrong about that, dragonrider.” Angela’s hands worked quickly, documenting Fareeha’s injuries. As she touched, she cleaned, bandaged and splinted. There was too much and it was amazing Fareeha had survived a day, much less seven. Her wounds were infected, her leg broken, she was as bitten and chewed as Raptorath and malnourished besides. Angela couldn’t even guess at potential internal injuries. She had to guess that the fever was a recent development-she couldn’t have been this sick and survived. “You need water,” she explained as she checked the improvised splint.

“He’s so hungry,” Fareeha muttered, her voice cracking. “He needs to eat, Hana.”

Angela cupped her cheek, bringing her face as close as she could to meet her eyes. “Wingleader Fareeha. Stay with me. That is an order from your Weyrwoman.”

“Zarya?” Fareeha leaned back against the pile of cloth, flopping her arm against her dragon’s side. “You sound different.”

Angela dug in the medical kit, producing a skin of water. She opened it, resting the tip against Fareeha’s lips. “Drink. Slowly.” The rider obeyed, trying to follow when Angela withdrew the water. “Give your body time to adjust,” she said.

“Hana made it, right?” Fareeha grabbed at Angela’s arm, eyes wide and glassy. It was terrifying to see her so sick and panicked. “She wanted to stay. Stayed too long. I made her go. She made it to the hall?” 

Angela took her hand and asked Caudeth to relay the question. The answer from Zarya was a yes, the girl had made it to the hall around the same time as Raptorath woke. Angela told her the news and Fareeha smiled.

“Good. Good.” She exhaled heavily. “Tell Zarya I’m sorry.”

Angela shook her head, slinging Fareeha’s arm around her shoulders. “We are going home,” she told her. _Caudeth._

_I come,_ the dragon replied. Her arrival was graceless, but in the dark all that mattered was that she made it to the ground in one piece. She shoved through the brush to the tiny clearing, moving closer to Raptorath with care. _He is sick,_ the gold observed. _You must put straps on him. I will carry him._

Angela nodded, patting Fareeha’s face. “I have to put straps on Raptorath so Caudeth can lift him,” she explained, checking the woman’s pulse as her head lolled. It was thready but present. Angela hurried nonetheless. There was no guarantee how much longer Fareeha would remain stable and healing Raptorath was entirely beyond her skills. 

She stripped her own riding gear off of Caudeth, leaving only her saddle on the gold. She fitted the straps she could around Raptorath’s body, relying on Caudeth to urge him into motion when she needed him to move. She secured his wings and hips, then stepped back so Caudeth could find her grip. As her dragon worked out how to carry the brown, Angela carefully encouraged Fareeha to stand. 

“We are going to go between,” she explained to the brownrider. “And I need you to hold Raptorath with us. You cannot let him slip away, Fareeha, because he will not come back. Do you understand?”

There was a brief pause, then the other riders head bobbed. 

“Good.” Angela climbed onto her saddle, wrapping her arms around Fareeha and bringing her with her. She gripped her tightly, then gave Caudeth the order to fly.


	7. Hand in Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wingleader is recovering, as is Angela's reputation. It seems as though Overwatch Weyr can finally take a breath-for now.

“How are you today, healer?” 

Angela smiled and shook her head. “That is junior weyrwoman to you, dragonrider,” she answered, sitting on the edge of the infirmary cot. Fareeha leaned back into her pillows, returning the grin. “How are you feeling?”

“You first,” Fareeha said, rubbing her eyes. 

“I’m well.” The familiar conversation was a welcome sign. In the days since she’d pulled Fareeha out of the jungle she’d been amazed by the womans recovery. That she was sitting and talking at all was a minor miracle. At first they hadn’t even been certain either Fareeha or her dragon would live. Angela had pulled every trick she knew, from the herbs in the cabinet to the transfusion technique she’d learned at the Hall, to give Fareeha her best chance. When the fever had broken, she knew she’d succeeded. “How is your leg?”

“It hurts.” Fareeha adjusted herself in the cot, raising and lowering her injured leg with a wince. “But I can handle it. How is Raptorath?” Her loss of most of her mental contact with her dragon was far more concerning than her injuries. It went both ways-Raptorath seemed to be suffering from psychic deafness, unable to fully connect mentally with his rider, other dragons or Zarya. The dragonhealers had been at a loss to explain it and Angela had been methodically working through her own list of suspected causes.

“Lena’s giving him a bath. He’s still very thin, but the dragonhealer thinks he’s recovering. J’Cree has been smuggling him extra portions.” 

Fareeha smiled. “He just doesn’t want to be wingleader anymore. He tried to bring me the wing diagram yesterday. I had to remind him that I can’t assess riders I can’t see.”

“Caudeth says Dedeyth is nervous about leading. He wants Raptorath back in charge.” 

The brownrider shrugged one shoulder and Angela leaned over her, inspecting one of the scarred over bites. “He’ll have to wait until we’re cleared.”

Frowning, Angela tapped her finger on the mark, considering one of her theories. “Do you mind...what do you remember of leaving the hold?”

Fareeha looked down at her own hands, shaking her head. “It was a blur. We were getting bitten, I couldn’t hear Raptorath, Hana was panicking. I felt the straps release, then between, then we were crashing in the jungle.” Her frustration was evident as she squeezed her hands into fists. “Everything is even less clear from there. I wish I could be more help.”

Angela covered one hand with her own. Fareeha looked up at her, meeting her eyes with a breathless pause. For a moment Angela let her questions slip away, focusing on the determination and nobility she saw in the wounded brownrider. She was studied in return and wondered what Fareeha was looking for. Her nerve faltered and she broke the look. “You lost contact with Raptorath after they bit you? Not before, when you were surrounded?”

The woman’s lips thinned. “No, only once we were bit. Is that why I can only hear him when I concentrate?”

Angela considered her answer, but her words were interrupted when footsteps paused just inside of the infirmary door. The goldrider glanced in their direction, her expression turning blankly neutral when she spotted Amelie. “Do you need something?” she asked. The armored rider’s head tilted, then she stepped closer.

“Lord Gabriel needs fellis,” Amelie said. “He has sent me to procure a bottle of the juice.”

Angela frowned. “I can’t give you a whole bottle without knowing what it’s for.”

“He has pain.” 

Angela stood, walking to her office and doling out a few doses of fellis into a small vial. She wiped it clean, then took it to Amelie. “If he wants more, he will need to speak with a healer himself,” she said.

The rider nodded, accepting the bottle and slipping it into a pocket on her belt. “The holders wish to know how the wingleaders recovery progresses,” she said, turning to look at Fareeha expectantly.

“I’m not…”

“She is well,” Angela cut Fareeha off. “I expect her to be on her feet in a sevenday.” She crossed her arms. The bluerider’s eyes flicked from one to the other.

“Of course,” she said after much too long a pause, golden eyes locked on Fareeha in an evaluating stare. “Be well.” The platitude fell flat in Amelie’s affectless voice. She tilted her head just enough that it passed for a respectful bow, then turned and left the infirmary.

Angela watched her until she was certain she was around the corner and gone. Her expression remained troubled as she turned back to Fareeha. On the surface there was no issue with the Lord Holders’ request, and Amelie’s attitude was no different than usual. Nevertheless, she had to wonder, especially about the way she’d fixated on the brownrider. “I’ll make your tea, and then you can do your exercises,” she said. 

“Can’t wait,” was Fareeha’s yawned reply.

\-------------

Steam rose from the bucket as Angela set it next to the infirmary cot. “I brought your bath,” she called. Fareeha turned away from the side table to look. “How is it going?”

The brownrider moved to one side so Angela could see her progress on her project-an arm, formed from metal and wood. She had been working on it since she’d been permitted to sit up for long stretches of time. It was jointed, but the workings of the joints were not quite complete. “Good,” Fareeha said, gripping the thumb and flexing it back and forth. “I’ve almost figured out how to get it to move.”

Angela stepped around the cot and leaned over the table, keeping a respectful distance so she wouldn’t risk damaging Fareeha’s hard work. “The carving you’ve added is beautiful. Where did you learn how to do that?” she asked, sitting on the next bed. Fareeha picked up a screwdriver and poked at one of the knuckles. 

“I thought I might be a smith, since I knew I wouldn’t Impress,” she said with a sardonic smile. Angela chuckled. “I started training. But I didn’t walk the tables.” She carefully turned the hand over. “I Impressed Raptorath and I never really stopped tinkering.” Prodding it here and there, she tightened a screw. “I’ve been planning to try to do this since J’Cree had his accident.”

Angela leaned closer to look at the wrist of the device. Though she’d participated since the beginning of the work, she hadn’t known it was intended for another rider. “You two are close?” she asked, watching the workings of the wrist as Fareeha moved the fingers. 

“He was a senior weyrling when I was a junior. If it weren’t for him…” Fareeha shrugged. “He was kind when no one else would talk to me. He encouraged me to train and study...he made my first leathers for me. If I can make this work…”

Angela watched her as she talked and adjusted the hand. How tough could one woman be? And how fascinating? Before Fareeha had been stuck in the infirmary, they had avoided one another out of a mutual desire to not revisit their post-flight awkwardness. Since she’d required so much tending and observation, Angela had found herself learning so much more about the brownrider. She’d known Fareeha was dutiful, honorable and brave, but the range of her intellect was unexpected. So many dragonriders were content to live their lives for their dragons and for Pern. Someone trying to excel beyond that was rare. She could listen to Fareeha explain her handiwork for hours, but her favorite times were when she was asked to help. The structure of the wrist and fingers had been her doing, while Fareeha had worked out mechanical replacements for the tendons of a real hand. 

“Angela?” Fareeha waved a hand in front of her face. “Are you listening?”

Angela blinked. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking. What were you saying?”

“I asked if you thought he would like it if I carved Dedeyth’s name into it somewhere.” The brownriders expression was only mildly suspicious. Angela chastisted herself for letting her concentration drift, a habit she couldn’t seem to break around the brownrider.

Angela shook her head. “He seems like he’d prefer it looking simple,” she answered. Fareeha turned the hand over again, running her fingers over its palm. “Unless you think he would?”

There was no answer. Angela found unexpected softness in Fareeha’s features as she contemplated the appendage. Much like Angela had been, she was clearly lost in memory. “I left with him,” Fareeha finally said, touching her index finger to the thumb of the false hand. “Everyone wonders. They sent him to Overwatch because he was hurt and I went too. I knew no one would try to stop me.”

“I’ve seen your record,” Angela said, searching Fareeha’s face for a reaction. “No Weyr would give up a rider with such impeccable reviews, even a woman riding brown. Not in a pass, not without a fight. If you’d been at Fort, I wouldn’t have let you leave.” Thankfully she didn’t blush when she said it, thought she felt as though she might. 

Fareeha’s eyes flicked up, studying her for a moment, then she stared back down at the hand. “Telgar felt differently,” she said.

“Why?” The question slipped before Angela could stop it, but Fareeha didn’t seem offended. “You were everything a dragonrider should be. You don’t belong here,” she continued.

“They thought I would be like her.”

Angela blinked, her brow knitting. “Her?”

Fareeha puffed her cheeks, then exhaled, catching a tiny screw before it could fall from the table. “Ana.”

Angela looked away. She’d suspected, though she’d never asked. It was always impolite to ask the weyrborn their parentage, since the answer was almost always ‘some drudge and some rider, I was raised in the creche’. The attitude was so alien to the hold and hallborn, whose parentage was crucial to their upbringing and potential prospects for inheritance and craft. The resemblance in appearance and personality between Ana and Fareeha was unmissable, however. “I had guessed she might be your parent...”

“I did too.” When Angela looked back, Fareeha had planted her hands on either side of the arm and was staring right through it. “When she left they told us she died, but the dragons didn’t keen.” She shook her head.

“Oh.”

“She was gone before I Impressed. I tried to be what I thought they wanted. I thought she’d notice, or someone would, and I would be better than just some mascot. Some freak.” She carefully set the arm onto the canvas cloth she kept it in, then picked up the loose screws and put them into a jar. “Being the daughter of a goldrider had to count for something, even one who abandoned her Weyr. I tried so hard to be normal...”

“Fareeha.” Angela touched the brownriders shoulder. She expected a flinch, but Fareeha just slouched and closed the jar.

“Raptorath joined one of the junior queens flights. I had just come back from a training mission, I didn’t know she was rising, but he went after her while I was in the baths. I didn’t win. Not that it mattered.” Angela rubbed Fareeha’s back as she hung her head in shame. “So no one cared when I left with J’Cree. Better I be at the freak weyr than taking my perversion out on the golds.”

Angela’s jaw tightened. Ramona’s voice arose unbidden once again. Women on gold. Men on bronze. That is the natural order. That is how it will always be. There had been a few lessons about those expectations, that women who wanted women were disgusting perverts and men who wanted men were lesser than the paragons of masculinity who rode brown and bronze. Even in her time at Overwatch she hadn’t managed to totally shake those ideas. The dragon’s choice in flight was one thing but she still had the nagging feeling that for one of the higher ranking colors to pursue same-sex interests beyond that felt like they were working against nature. If a man or woman was such an invert, it must be a difficult life, even at the Weyr.

“Pity doesn’t suit you,” Fareeha said, her voice raspy. She gently wrapped the arm. “I have a good life here. With Zarya it’s not quite so lonely being…”. She shrugged. “Being like I am.”

She was amazed she hadn’t thought of it before. Zarya seemed perfect for the wingleader. They were both so imposing, so strong. In her imagination, they fit together like hand and glove. Her stomach dropped. That would explain Zarya’s protectiveness of her fellow riders, and the easy way she and Fareeha worked together on the ground and in the sky. “You and she…?” Angela frowned in confusion when Fareeha burst out laughing.

“Oh shells. Definitely not,” Fareeha said, shaking her head. “Mei would...well she would say something very upsetting and take away my tools.”

“Lena?” 

Fareeha shook her head. “A time or two, before that whippy little blue. Never serious. And Amelie is also a very definitive no.”

Angela dodged Fareeha’s glance, wondering why she was feeling relieved at that news. She thought back to Oxtoth’s flight and the way she’d acted, wondering for the hundredth time if she was wrong about her own motivations. Pushing aside Ramona’s lectures, was there really no possibility she was actually attracted to Fareeha? She’d made the first move, after all. 

She tilted her head, studying Fareeha’s uninjured leg, then followed that to her hip. She admired the muscle there, even though it was weakened by disuse. Then came the curve of her waist and Angela could just recall the defined abdomen under Fareeha’s shapeless tunic. She remembered every twitch of muscle against her palm. She remembered the softness of her breasts, even in their binding. That elegant neck, that noble nose. Those lips.

“You’re staring, healer.”

Angela blinked. Her eyes snapped to Fareeha’s. The brownrider’s expression was neutral as she could manage, but something in her eyes read as longing. Angela took a slow breath, but her nerve failed her again. “Junior weyrwoman,” she corrected and Fareeha closed her eyes.

“Of course.”

\-------------

“How did you get so good at cards,” Zarya pouted, tilting her hand back towards her chest. “You are cheating.”

Angela giggled, pouring herself another glug of wine. “How would I be cheating?” she asked. “Caudeth can’t see them. I am all the way over here. Mei would never help me,” Patting her pile of marks, she picked up her drink and raised it in a mocking toast. “At the hall, when rounds were done and there were no more patients, we played cards. That is how I got so good at it.”

Mei took the bottle of wine and poured her own glass, beaming at Zarya. “She’s used to winning,” she informed Angela. “That’s why she hates cards.”

The weyrwoman narrowed her eyes at both of them and the response was only more giggling. In the sevendays since the fall of the hold, she and Angela had taken it upon themselves to improve their working relationship. An evening of cards once in awhile was part of that, a necessary break from the stress of their daily lives. 

Their requests for information from the north had gotten nothing worthwhile. Less than the entire wing travelling to the ruins of the hold was banned. The holders had settled into a sub community at the farthest end of the bowl and the riders had helped them modify unused weyrs so they were properly housed. Their acceptance of their situation was grudging, but Lord Gabriel had negotiated their independence with Zarya. The word that they did not have to obey weyr mores in their own community had gone a long way to pacifying them. The insects had not been seen since Fareeha’s rescue, though none of the weyrleadership believed that to be the end of their assaults. 

“I call,” Angela said, looking down at her excellent hand. Overwatch wasn’t perfect, but it was becoming familiar. She felt calm again, settled in this new place.

“Bah. Call.” Zarya tossed her cards on the table, rolling her eyes. “Cheaters.”

Mei dropped her hand on top of Zarya’s, kissing her on the cheek. “Next time we can have a throwing contest.”

Angela pulled in the marks, chuckling. “Agreed,” she said. 

Another round passed amiably, the wine flowing and the conversation ranging through the technocrafter’s new work and Angela’s progress with the injured wingriders. Mei was gathering the cards when Zarya leaned across the table and patted Angela’s hands. “And how is Fareeha?” She asked. The wine had made her much less formal and the look she was giving Angela was less ‘knowing’ and more ‘blatant’.

Angela looked to the door, as though someone might pick that moment to walk in. Already her cheeks were reddening. She firmly blamed the wine for giving her away so easily. “She is doing very well. Certainly ready to retake her position.” A look passed between Mei and Zarya and the crafter chewed her lip. She put the cards back into their drawstring bag, then picked up the empty bottle. 

“I’ll get another,” she suggested, leaving before Angela could object. 

“Raptorath is not as well as his rider,” Zarya said as the door closed. She looked off towards the far wall, her jaw clenching. “He cannot fly long stretches. He tries. He gets better. But not so quick.”

Angela’s brow knitted in concern. “He will recover. Fareeha works very hard.” Angela knew better than most. They’d been spending time every day together, building Fareeha’s strength, helping her compensate for her long recovery. It was inspiring to watch her return to her former self. 

“But not within a month.” Zarya’s eyes slid past Angela to the door. “She does not like flight talk, but is necessary. Aleksath rises soon. When will Caudeth fly?”

Angela counted back the time since Caudeth had last risen. “Two months at least.”

“Hm. Good. You will be able to maintain order during the flight?” Zarya fidgeted with her cup.

“I can.” Angela looked into her wine as her drink addled brain put two and two together. Aleksath rising. Raptorath’s injuries. Zarya had been hoping that Fareeha would win and become weyrleader. Her breath caught. Something in her stomach twisted. It would be the best outcome possible for the Weyr. Of course it would. But the thought made her want to hurl the glass. For the first time, she admitted to herself that this was jealousy, that she wanted Fareeha to herself. The magnitude of that thought gave her pause until Zarya took a long breath. 

“I believe J’Cree will win,” Zarya said, sipping her wine, still watching the door. “So I will need a dose of maiden root. You have some of this?” Her jaw worked as she looked to the floor. 

“I do,” Angela replied, snapped out of her daze by the sheer practicality of the question. “Will you be...alright?”

“Is best for Aleksath,” Zarya answered immediately. “I would prefer Fareeha. But J’Cree…”. She exhaled, picking up her cup and turning it in her hands. “Will be acceptable.”

Angela was struck by the mental image of Fareeha and Zarya, locked in a passionate embrace. Zarya writhing on the bed, Fareeha looming over her, victorious. Those strong bodies striving against one another. Asleep in each other's arms, too exhausted to move. Again she understood, with the clarity that only wine could bring, that the way her cheeks burned was territorial anger. She did not want Zarya touching the woman she wanted. She did not want to lose Fareeha to someone who was so ideal for her, who was superior in every way to Angela. She could not control the flights of dragons, however, and she knew more than anything Fareeha wanted to be weyrleader. She deserved it, after all her sacrifice and struggles. Overwatch needed her, more than it needed J’Cree or one of the others. “There are two greenflights before Aleksath rises,” she heard herself saying. “Perhaps Raptorath will chase? If he can chase a green, he could certainly chase a gold. A month is plenty of time to recover.”

Zarya nodded slowly. “It is. It is. I will be ready, no matter who chases.” She looked to Angela.

“What about Mei?” Angela wished she could have perhaps bitten her tongue in half instead of letting her thoughts get away with her, especially since Zarya immediately hung her head and sighed heavily.

“She will meet with Satya all day at the hall.” The weyrwoman’s voice was smaller somehow. “She does not like my flights. But there is nothing I can do.” 

The blush faded. The twist in her stomach let go. How could she be jealous, seeing Zarya so troubled? The weyrwoman didn't want Fareeha, compatible as they might be, any more than she wanted J’Cree or one of the other men. Angela watched Zarya’s hands as the weyrwoman spun the cup in them again, then replaced it on the table. “She does understand…”

“Yes.” Zarya nodded, raising her head and rubbing one hand over her eyes. “But that does not mean she likes it. I do not want her to be hurt. I love her.”

Angela’s mouth opened, then shut. She looked away, because the tone of Zarya’s voice was so reverent there was no other choice. She had never seen such a look of hopeless adoration. Her heart ached in sympathy. “Then I hope everything goes to your plan,” she said. 

The door opened and they both raised their heads. Mei walked in with another bottle, gesturing in Angela's direction with the open top. “I hope you’re ready, all we have left is Benden red,” she said, grinning.

“Thank you!” Angela plucked the bottle out of her hand, watching as Zarya rose from her chair and swept Mei into a passionate kiss in a single motion. She poured herself another glass of wine. Her thoughts wandered to Fareeha, strong, captivating and bold, and she drained the cup in one long, thoughtful swig.

\-------------

The lack of privacy in a weyr had never been such an issue when there were over a thousand people busy at their own work. Angela fidgeted with her tunic, then checked her reflection again in her mirror. She couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. Overwatch was small, and no matter where they had this conversation word would spread. Two dragons on the same ledge for more than a tick or two was all the fodder the gossips needed.

_They come,_ Caudeth said as a burst of air whisked through her weyr. Ultimately, it was the only possible place to have this conversation. She fixed her hair one last time, then faced the exit to her ledge. Fareeha walked through the door immediately after and Angela took a moment to size her up.

The brownrider still had a slight limp, though she worked hard at hiding it. Small scars shone here and there on her skin. Her posture was strong and her body was regaining some of its tone from before her disastrous crash. This was most obvious in her arms, where the bulge of muscle was beginning to show even in her flight leathers. Fareeha was beautiful, and being able to finally admit that was what she saw when she looked at her eased Angela’s worry. “You asked for me,” she said taking off her helmet. She seemed to be about to speak again, but when she looked at Angela she paused.

“I did,” Angela replied. She could almost hear Ramona’s disgust in her ear as she gestured Fareeha closer. She banished those thoughts. Ramona was wrong. ‘None of these northern ideas,’ she recalled Zarya saying. It was time to lay the north’s grip on her emotions to rest. “I wanted to ask you something.” 

Fareeha looked past Angela as though she expected someone else to emerge from hiding. “Alright?” She said, stepping further into the room. Though they were more comfortable around one another now, the brownrider always had a certain reluctance about her when she spoke to other women. Angela had commented on it once or twice, and the answer had always been a blush and a change of topic. “What about?”

Angela brushed her hands down the front of her clothing. Now or never. “Oxtoth rises in a few days,” she said carefully, looking away from Fareeha’s face. “I wanted...to invite you to come here. If Raptorath is outflown.” She looked back up to find the brownrider red-faced and wide-eyed. “Or anytime. Flight or not.”

“You want me to…”. Fareeha trailed off, looking past her again. Her suspicion spoke volumes about how she had been treated in the past and Angela felt a stab of anger that anyone could have been so cruel towards the brownrider.

“I want you to know you are welcome in my weyr,” Angela said, taking a deep breath, trying again. “And...my bed. If you like.” She exhaled as Fareeha’s eyes tracked back to hers, peering intently to see if there was any second meaning behind what she was saying.

“What do you mean?” Angela could see her defenses rising. It hurt, but she understood. She closed the distance between them, smoothed her hands over Fareeha’s arms, reminding herself of the other woman’s strength and her usual confidence. 

“I mean I enjoy your company.” The rider almost interrupted, but Angela leaned up and stopped her with a brush of her lips. “I think you are an excellent dragonrider.” Another brief kiss, her nerves feeling raw and frayed. She still tasted of klah and wine, even fresh from the sky. “You are beautiful.” She slid her arms behind Fareeha’s neck and felt her gloved hands reflexively settle on her waist. “And I want you.” She inhaled, readying herself. “As a woman. As a lover.” Her heart pounded.

Fareeha stared deeply into her eyes and Angela did not avoid her this time. “You mean that,” Fareeha breathed.

“I do,” Angela replied. “Until I came here I would never have questioned my feelings. My duty made my choice for me. It is not that clear cut anymore. I have never felt the way I did with you before. I have never remembered a man’s touch so fondly. It would be unfair to push you away because of tradition when I know very well how I feel and what I want.”

“And what about what I want?” Angela’s heart thudded painfully as Fareeha said the words. She blinked slowly, studying those warm brown eyes.

“What do you want?” Angela asked, her voice almost a whisper. She was suddenly afraid of the answer, afraid she’d misjudged their closeness and her own desire. 

The question hung. Fareeha watched her again and Angela wished again that she knew what the brownrider was looking for. “To say yes. For this not to be some horrible dream.”

“You aren’t dreaming,” Angela reassured her. “I mean what I say. I want you, Fareeha. If you want me too.”

The brownrider closed her eyes and licked her lips, then nodded. “Alright.”

Angela breathed a sigh of relief, watched a smile flicker across Fareeha’s lips. “That includes now,” she murmured, leaning up on her toes to kiss the other woman’s grin. Fareeha’s eyebrows bounced high, then she opened her mouth to the kiss.

\-------------

There was much less awkwardness when Lena sat across from Angela on the morning after Oxtoth’s flight. The greenrider smirked at Angela’s high necked shirt and personal jug of klah. “Left Fareeha to make the bed, eh?” She commented around a bite of sweetroll.

“She deserved the rest,” Angela replied brightly. “How is Amelie?”

Lena frowned into her plate. “Don’t know, actually. She didn’t show.” 

Angela arched an eyebrow, looking around the room for any sign of the covered rider. “At all, or Lacroith lost?”

Lena bounced a shoulder. “Didn’t show at all.” She nodded towards the mess hall entrance as J’Cree walked in. “Still did pretty good.”

Angela’s other eyebrow lifted. “Mhm. Odd that she wasn’t there.”

The greenrider shuffled her hand through her own hair, managing to make it stick up at even more angles in the process. “She does what she wants. Like I told you. Probably off on some holder business.”

Exhaling through her nose, Angela picked up her drink and sipped. “What business? Scouting for the new hold?”

“She told me she’s been running their Harper, Sombra, back and forth from the hall for the last month.” Fareeha arrived just then, looking at both available seats before beginning to descend into the one next to Lena. The smaller rider whacked her in the hip with one elbow. “Oi! You lost, loser,” she giggled. “Go sit with the consolation prize.”

Angela rolled her eyes as Fareeha stepped around the table. “I feel very appreciated,” Angela said, prodding Lena in the boot under the table. “And respected.”

The greenrider shrugged as Fareeha sat. “It’s the truth! Gotta be quick and sharp to catch a green. All you need to pull down one of you shiny ladies is stamina. Who’s got the time, yeah?”

“There is strategy. It’s different,” Fareeha said, taking a bite of fruit. “Stamina is very important, but so is skill. Golds are strong.” She looked from Angela’s pink-cheeked expression to Lena’s massive grin and let her voice peter out. Under the table, Angela caught one of her hands and gave it a squeeze. 

“Is anyone sitting here?”

All three of them looked up at the tall, armoured rider. Amelie held a mug and a plate of breakfast, her golden eyes expressing her usual flat disinterest. Fareeha gestured her towards the empty seat, though the look on Lena’s face suggested it might not be the best idea. Amelie sat, set out her food, then sipped her klah. 

“Where were you yesterday?” Lena asked, clearly trying to sound casual and entirely failing.

“With Sombra,” Amelie answered, removing her faceplate.

“The harper?” Fareeha released Angela’s hand in favour of her own mug.

“At the hall,” Amelie said with a nod. She gathered up a mouthful of breakfast on her fork. There was a moment of silence as looks were exchanged all around the table. Angela glanced at Lena, frowning at her hurt expression. Fareeha studied Amelie, clearly wishing she still had the authority to comment on the riders priorities. 

“Are you assigned there now?” Angela finally asked.

“No,” Amelie answered, taking another bite. “Lord Gabriel felt we deserved some time together. We were fucking.” There was a single breath of silence, then Lena grabbed her plate and stormed away from the table. Fareeha looked sideways to Angela, who glared at Amelie. The bluerider pushed her food around, then looked up as Lena slammed her plate into the washup area and stomped out of the mess hall. One of Amelie’s eyebrows rose in a questioning arch.

“Oxtoth rose yesterday,” Angela informed her coolly. That Amelie blinked and set her fork down was somewhat of a surprise considering her non-responses to everything else. The way she immediately looked to the table at the far end of the hall, currently occupied by Lord Gabriel and a trio of holders, piqued Angela’s curiosity. She had no chance to question Amelie-the rider slid her faceplate back on and rose, abandoning her breakfast without further comment. 

Angela watched Lord Gabriel as she left. The man’s conversation with his holders carried on, but his eyes followed Amelie on her way.


	8. The First Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aleksath rises to determine the weyrleadership. Plans unfold amidst the uproar of the flight.

Perched on a chair by the door, Angela looked at the report in her hands and not the rider and crafter embracing in the middle of the room. She concentrated very hard on one of the wingriders reports on the day the Hold burned when she heard a slight hitch in Mei’s ‘goodbye’, then turned the page noisily to mask Zarya’s murmured answer. She had been invited and her habit of being early had landed her in this awkward moment. Again.

She started when Mei’s hands pressed down on top of the report, then looked up into a very earnest and upset expression. “Please take care of her, Angela? Make sure she sends me a message the second everything’s over. She’s taken one dose of maiden root and she has the other one on the desk. The drudges have her meal requests, and-”

Angela put both of her hands over Mei’s. “I promise I will take care of her, Mei. No matter what happens. If I have to go in there and drag someone out by their hair, I will.” She stood, and the shorter woman suddenly caught her in a hug. “I won’t let anything happen to her,” she said, returning the embrace.

“I am not a child,” Zarya said, pouting a little from her seat on the bed. “I have done this before.” Mei released Angela and returned to her weyrmate, cupping her face in both hands. “Everything will be fine.”

Mei bent forward and kissed Zarya, running her fingers through her hair and along her neck. “I love you.”

“And I love you. J’Rat waits, it is time to go.” Angela could see a familiar tension in Zarya’s shoulders as she stood and escorted Mei towards her ledge. “I will send the message. I will take the tea. I will eat and sleep and rest.” As they turned the corner, Zarya kissed the back of Mei’s hand. “And when you come back, you will have me all to yourself for a day.”

“Two.”

Zarya chuckled. “Yes. Two. Good.” Then they were around the bend and gone. Angela busied herself by putting things in order, double checking to be certain none of Zarya’s private papers were loose and kicking some errant laundry towards the hamper. She was just taking the weyrwoman’s breakfast tray out into the hallway when Zarya returned, rubbing at her eyes. Angela set out the tray, then stepped back inside and closed the door.

“You will be alright?” she asked. Zarya removed her top and pants, folding them and setting them on a chair. 

“I will be fine. You will be right next door, yes?” The burly woman sighed, swiping at her eyes again, then pulled a parcel out of her desk cupboard.

“I will. Do you need me to do anything specific?” Angela held out a hand for Zarya’s chest bindings and breeches, dropping them alongside the other laundry. 

“...be the weyrwoman?” Zarya chuckled, pulling on a button down shirt, then drawstring pants. The blue contrasted against her hair, and she paused as she was closing the shirt. 

“People might notice,” Angela answered lightly, taking her by the elbow and guiding her towards the bedroom. She didn’t need to be told the flight was beginning-the weyrwoman’s expression was enough. Zarya closed her eyes as she sat on the sleeping platform, concentrating on controlling Aleksath’s hunger. A dragon as large as the fearsome gold would need to be as light as she could be to ensure a good flight. Taking enough blood for the energy she required would take time. Angela buttoned the rest of her shirt, then checked the sleeping furs and the rest of the room one last time.

“Thank you,” Zarya said, leaning her elbows on her knees. Angela could see color rising in her cheeks. Her hands flexed, then her arms, then she stretched her back. 

Outside, she heard the commotion beginning as dragons fled to their ledges or landed in the bowl to keep an eye on the certainly glowing, blooding queen. _You are calm?_ Angela asked Caudeth. She wasn't due to rise for another month, but it never hurt to be a little paranoid. Golds who rose to mate too close together were known to fight. 

_Aleksath rises soon,_ the gold observed. _It is very warm. I would like to nap._

Angela nodded. _Please do. I will be back once the flight is over._ She paced back and forth, keeping an eye on Zarya’s condition. The riders would come soon, since their dragons were certainly letting them know what was about to happen. 

The weyrwoman rocked in place, eyes closed, the muscles in her neck standing out as she exerted her will against her dragon’s desires. Her mouth fell open and she licked her lips, running her hand through her hair. As she took a deep, shuddering breath, Angela heard the first footsteps pause just outside of the main doors. 

She stepped out of the bedchamber, walking to the door and opening it. J’Cree stood just outside, so freshly bathed his hair was still damp. He touched his forelock as he walked past her, glancing into the chamber before leaning against the wall.

In the bowl, she heard Aleksath bellow her first challenge, but no wingbeats followed. Perhaps one of the males had gotten too close to her kill? The next rider arrived, giving Angela a long once over before standing next to J’Cree. She knew him vaguely-a brownrider named L’Tel, originally from Ista. One of the many injured men, in this case missing a hand.

“I thought Aleksath was rising?” he asked the other brownrider, not so subtly indicating Angela with a jut of his chin. “What’s she doing here?”

J’Cree rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an ass,” he answered, exchanging a brief look with Angela. L’Tel shook his head and looked towards the ledge rather than making eye contact with the goldrider again. The next two arrived together, only giving Angela the briefest acknowledgement before continuing their conversation in the corner by the door.

There was more commotion outside, this time accompanied by the sound of wings, but it wasn’t enough of a rush to be the beginning of the flight. Angela repositioned herself in the door of the bedchamber, to better watch both Zarya and the male riders. When the door opened again, her breath caught in her throat. 

Fareeha walked into the room, head high. She wore a plain linen tunic and her hair was loose. No one, even the brownrider herself, had been certain she was joining the flight. She had spent the previous night alone, going over strategy with Raptorath, as she’d told Angela. Their rejuvenated bond was as strong as it ever was, which was a great relief to the rest of the Weyr. The dragon, however, was still not up to his previous stature. He was scarred, his wings weren’t as flexible as they had been and his lungs didn’t have the same capacity. The brown’s determination and spirit were his greatest asset, bolstered by his riders devotion to her duty and her Weyr. 

Unadorned as she was, the woman was striking. Even among the men, she stood apart in her strength and poise. To Angela, she already looked like the weyrleader she was attempting to become today and she wanted very much to kiss her. Fareeha gave J’Cree a tight smile, then settled by the door to the bedchamber, facing outwards. 

“Is she alright?” Fareeha asked, her voice low and tense.

“She’s not looking forward to this,” Angela answered, reaching out to touch Fareeha’s arm. The other woman took a deep breath, looking into the bedchamber. 

“Raptorath is well rested today,” Fareeha replied. “I have a good chance.”

Angela nodded, shoving back the jealousy that flared in her chest. This, of all days, was no time to be selfish. Zarya’s worry and discomfort was more important than Angela’s feelings. Fareeha wasn’t even her weyrmate, just an occasional lover. “If someone else catches…” Angela trailed off, wishing she hadn’t sounded so needy.

“I will come to you,” Fareeha affirmed, stepping forward to kiss her temple. “It’s beginning. You should go.”

Angela nodded, looking at the men. The conversations had ended and every one of them was looking towards the bedchamber door. “Be safe,” Angela said, stepping away from Fareeha. The other woman nodded, moving further into the doorway to block the men.

Someone else was jogging towards the weyr as Angela opened the door. She peered down the hallway, certain she’d accounted for all five of Overwatches brownriders. Indeed, the person coming towards her did not ride brown. It was Amelie. Angela was positive she saw Lord Gabriel disappearing around the corner behind the bluerider. 

_Where is Lacroith?_ Angela asked Caudeth, standing firm in the hall. 

_I do not see him,_ the dragon reported lazily. _Aleksath has finished the bleeding._

Angela’s eyes narrowed as Amelie slowed, regarding her with an arched eyebrow as she walked by. “A wealthy patron does not make a weyrleader,” Angela commented, catching her by the shoulder.

“No,” Amelie replied, her eyes dropping to Angela’s hand. “A clever dragon does.”

Angela narrowed her eyes. “What is Lord Gabriel planning?”

Amelie shrugged herself free of Angela’s grasp. “I have a right to enter the flight, whether or not you think Lacroith will win,” she said crisply.

Angela followed her to the door of Zarya’s weyr. _Do you see him yet?_ Angela asked her dragon, stopping short of returning to the room. The riders were crowded by the bedchamber, all looking inwards. Amelie came to a halt at the rear of the group, taking off her helmet and faceplate and setting them to the side. She looked coiled, ready, but her expression betrayed nothing.

There was a great clamor in the weyrbowl. She heard the sounds of wings and dragons heaving themselves skyward and tensed in the doorway. The room was warmer than usual, each and every rider tightly focused on their dragon. Angela listened and watched, most of her attention on Amelie. The bluerider’s shoulders shook with fine tremors, a recognizable sign that she was fully engaged with her Lacroith. Caudeth still hadn’t reported a sighting of the blue, who would definitely stand out amidst the browns who were otherwise striving. Whatever Lord Gabriel and Amelie had planned, it had to happen early. Aleksath would be too distant to be caught by a blue after the initial pandemonium of the flight. 

_He dives!_ Angela’s eyes went wide, then she closed them. 

_Show me!_

Her head swam as her connection to Caudeth deepened. She smelled the sharp notes of draconic arousal in the air, then saw through her dragon’s eyes the flight over the Weyr. Aleksath was arcing along the side of the weyrbowl, the browns pursuing her low and behind. Caudeth could see Lacroith arrowing towards Aleksath from above with all of the speed he could muster and to Angela’s horror, she knew the angle was true. Lacroith was about to catch. 

_Stop him Caudeth!_

She heard her dragon roar, and her head throbbed with a sudden ache as she withdrew from the gold’s senses. _LACROITH! TURN!_ Caudeth’s voice rang through her head and Angela stumbled against the door, wincing. She heard dragons take up her queen’s admonition in the bowl and another triumphant bugle from Aleksath as the mighty gold began to ascend. 

When she opened her eyes, it was to Amelie’s furious expression. “How dare you,” she hissed, stalking towards Angela. “How DARE YOU!” It was the first time she’d seen the dragonrider display any emotion other than lust or indifferent amusement, and it was terrifying. Amelie looked like a woman fully capable of murder in that moment, especially as she seized Angela by the shirt and shoved her into the hallway. “You interfering little bitch,” she fumed.

“I swore to Zarya that I would protect this Weyr,” Angela snapped back, swatting Amelie’s hand off of her chest. “And if she wants to discipline me for interfering, that is her right.” She stood taller, her hands curling into fists at her side. “But it is not yours, wingrider. You lost. Go find someone to slake your need on. I’m certain Lord Gabriel would oblige.” 

Disgust twisted Amelie’s expression but the rider gritted her teeth and took a step back. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Angela arched an eyebrow. “Are you not here at his bidding? Do you not serve him over your fellow dragonriders? Fly where he wants you? Bed who he orders you to bed?” Amelie flinched, but Angela pressed on. “It’s nothing to interfere with a green flight, but have you not questioned his reasons for dispatching you to lay with the Harper on that specific day? Either he wants you for himself, Amelie, or he wants you away from us.”

Amelie’s lip curled. “These are wild accusations, goldrider.”

“Accusations you’re not denying.” Angela took a step forward. “Go. And if I hear you pursued Lena after all that you’ve done, I will do everything in my power to make your life miserable.”

“You can’t.” Amelie took another step back, and Angela moved with her.

“Watch me.” They glared at each other for a moment longer, then Amelie turned on her heel and stormed off down the hall. 

\-------------

Though she’d promised she would be right next door, Angela waited out the flight in the hallway between her weyr and Zarya’s. Amelie did not return but that did not ease Angela’s mind very much. She watched the riders through the door, ready to jump in if it seemed as though any of them were about to rush the bedchamber before a victory had been achieved.

The stamina of the queen shouldn’t have been surprising. At fifteen ticks, the first of the brownriders grunted and stomped out of the weyr, almost turning towards Angela until she directed him off down the hall. By this time there would be plenty of drudges and other dragonfolk who would be happy to take a losing rider to their bed. She had no doubt they were waiting just out of sight. L’Tel was next, and he almost jogged out of the room. 

Adequately prepared, Angela was able to bear the flight lust as it came and went in waves. Queens showed more restraint than greens did when they rose and Aleksath’s flight path took her well away from the weyr. Though she wanted to reach for the riders as they passed her, Angela was able to exercise her self control.

The next loss was U’Kor, one of the duo who had arrived just before Amelie. He left in a sulk, stalking past Angela without a sideways look. She ignored him too, leaning against the wall to watch the remaining two riders.

Fareeha paced slowly, her eyes dark, her arms wrapped around her body. When Angela could see her face, she looked deep in thought, all of her concentration with her dragon. There was a fine sheen of sweat on her face and her movements were stiff. Her cheeks were flushed with arousal, though she avoided looking into the bedchamber as though certain that would make it worse.

J’Cree stood with his back to the door, his eyes fixed on the bedchamber entrance. Every muscle in his body seemed to be tense and he occasionally grunted in response to something his dragon did. Ticks passed, and the atmosphere of the room grew heavier. Both riders were lost in their dragons and the flight bore down on them. Angela knew from experience that Zarya would be in no better straits and hoped that the dragon would choose soon.

When it happened, it was shockingly fast. J’Cree yelped, his body bowing, and Fareeha stopped mid-stride. Angela leaned away from the wall, prepared to be swept off of her feet, then Fareeha turned towards the bedchamber, meeting Zarya in the entryway. Angela saw them collide, kissing hungrily, Fareeha’s quick hands tearing away Zarya’s shirt before she pushed the weyrwoman back into the room. J’Cree stumbled out of their way, shuffling out of the weyr. 

He initially feinted towards Angela, then thought better of it and moved in the same direction the other riders had. She was left staring through the open door, vacillating between being happy for Zarya and proud of Fareeha, and the sick jealousy that rose in her gut. When she felt stable enough to do so, she walked over to close the door, trying to ignore the passionate cries from the bedchamber. Then she returned to her own weyr, digging out a bottle of wine and pouring herself a cup.

\-------------

Morning began when the sleeping pallet dipped and the scent of sweetsand wafted Angela awake. She groaned, wiping one hand over her eyes, then pulled up the furs over her shoulder. The weight on the bed shifted, a hand coming to rest on her hip. 

“Angela?” Fareeha sounded exhausted. Angela turned onto her back, looking up at the brownrider. Her hair was clean and dry, her face washed. She wore one of her newer shirts and her riding pants-there was no sign of the clothing she’d worn to the flight. Her expression was tired and dismayed. “Good morning.” She looked away, off towards the other side of the room. Her shoulders dropped. “I know you don’t want to see me,” she continued, “but I wanted you to know everything went as well as could be expected. Zarya is doing well. I am the weyrleader.” Her words came quickly, and her voice and posture implied an apology in everything she said. “I hope we can still work together.”

Angela squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. “Why wouldn’t I want to see you?” she asked, pushing some hair out of her face. She leaned up on her elbows, sleep giving way to concern. Had she already said or done something to imply that Fareeha was unwelcome? 

“Because I was...with...Zarya,” Fareeha said, looking at her out of the corner of her eye. “I thought…”

Angela reached for Fareeha’s arm and let her pull her to a sitting position. She immediately leaned against the brownrider, who automatically wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She had gone through all of these thoughts with the wine last night, chatting with Caudeth to distract herself from the sound that carried through the stone walls. “My duty is to the Weyr, above all else, even myself, Fareeha. I am...well, I was jealous. Who wouldn’t be? You’re beautiful, she’s magnificent and a flight can bond two riders in ways nothing else can, but…” She pulled at one of the furs, dropping it over Fareeha’s lap. “She already has a weyrmate and she does not want to take you as well. Did Raptorath chase because you wanted to be with Zarya?”

Fareeha shook her head. “I wanted to be weyrleader and even if I lost, it’s my duty to ensure the flight is a worthy one,” she said. “I respect her, but I have no desire to be her weyrmate.”

Nodding, Angela tightened her nightclothes then slid her arm around Fareeha’s waist, resting her cheek on the woman’s strong shoulder. “Then the dragon chooses, the rider follows,” she recited. “I am not jealous, because there could be no more perfect weyrleader than you and no more perfect weyrwoman than Zarya for this place. She has Mei-”

“I have you.” Fareeha stared intently at the floor, not daring to catch a glimpse of Angela’s expression. “If you still want me.”

Angela looked into the furs that had pooled across her legs and around her body. The scent of sweetsand and Fareeha’s skin wafted over her. She thought of their whirlwind relationship thus far, the conversations in the infirmary and their trysts since she’d finally come clean about her interest. “I do,” she said, leaning up to kiss Fareeha on the cheek. “Weyrleader Fareeha.”

\-------------

The stink in the room was overwhelming. The insect laid out on the table smelled like a rotting corpse, a greasy, sharp stench that was certain to cling to their clothes as they left. Mei was the only one apparently unaffected but it was hard to tell under the mask she wore as she used a knife to pry the thing apart.

“Roadh found this in the jungle, the first anyone’s seen of these bugs in months,” she explained to the gathered weyrleadership, following a line in its chitin with the blade. “Roask half ate another one.”

“It’s larger than the others,” J’son commented, moving to stand alongside Mei. 

“Not larger than the ones that attacked Raptorath and I,” Fareeha said, shaking her head. “There were some that were bigger than this.”

“Where did it come from?” Zarya asked, 

“West of the hall.” Mei answered, using her gloved hands to pull the insects exoskeleton open. “So I believe that’s the direction of the nest. Satya thinks that Thread, or at least a specific type of Thread, carries these creatures’ eggs from the Red Star. We found grubs under the plants we believe spawned from Thread, so either the Thread mutates the native insects or it hatches eggs once it encounters certain conditions.” She stepped back to give them a look at the innards of the thing, though the fresh scent arising from it held most of them back.

Angela stared into the body. “Show me its mandibles,” she said. Mei turned the corpse so she could see. Its mouthparts were sharp and by the thinness of the edge it was clear they could cause exactly the injuries they’d seen on Raptorath and Caudeth. She took the knife from Mei, using it to prod through the bug’s innards. “Do you know how it died?”

“Roadh said Roask found it dead. I think it starved, but I wasn’t able to check.” Mei bent over the thing again as Angela pushed membranes aside, searching for something familiar in the guts.

“You two dissect it, see what you can learn.” Zarya motioned the others towards her. “We will begin basic scouting. The hall will not fall the way the hold did.”

Angela looked up, offering a smile to Fareeha as they filed out. “There was foam on Caudeth’s tail when she was bit,” she said, returning to the examination. “There must be a gland, something that secretes something in its head or neck. I think that’s the source of the venom that affected Fareeha and Raptorath.”

“Pass me the knife,” Mei said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats to Overwatch on canon queer Tracer, that's pretty great guys! I hope to be able to keep on schedule posting chapters nine and ten, but I have a lot of holiday obligations, so they may be delayed until next week. If you're celebrating, I hope you have a wonderful time! If this is just another weekend for you, I hope the weather treats you well and you find yourself content and cared for in the coming days. If I could hug all of you folks I would, because just knowing people are actually reading and enjoying my work has been so wonderful. Thank you all again for your comments, your kudos and your interest!


	9. The Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Experments are underway, crafters are visiting, and Caudeth's flight looms on the horizon.

“Once more, for the record, this is a bad idea and as a healer and your friend, I object.”

Mei shook her head and smiled. “Angela, we have measured the dose and calculated it again and again. I am our only safe test subject.” She leaned back in the infirmary bed, her flit perched above her with a curious expression. “Think about how this knowledge could benefit the Weyr. All of the dragons and riders we could protect.”

Angela sighed, offering her a blanket. “All I can think of right now is Zarya twisting my arm off if you get hurt,” she said wryly as Mei draped herself, then discarded her shirt. Their work on the insect problem was slow going, though it had picked up since Mei had brought some equipment to the Weyr and had Roadh search out another sample. 

“Then think about how our only other volunteer is Fareeha?” Mei’s lips curved saucily when Angela shot her a look. “There. Settled.”

“You are not as sweet at people think you are,” Angela muttered, resting her fingertips on Mei’s neck and counting out her pulse. “What’s your initial dose?” She picked up her pen and found her place in her notes, scribbling down Mei’s heart rate and a general description of her health. 

“The equivalent of a single bite,” Mei responded, holding up the vial. “Injected.”

“Can I just-”

“Angela.”

“Fine, fine.” Angela noted the time, then picked up Snowball. The flit chirped indignantly at her, trying to push his way out of her hands. “Alright, take the dose?” She said, watching the clock as Mei injected herself with the venom and lay back on the bed. After one tick Angela took her pulse again, keeping the flit tucked under one arm. “Anything to report?”

“The injection site is warm and I feel a slight tingle, but no other pain or unpleasant sensations.”

“And your communication?”

The fire lizard under Angela’s arm stopped his squirming, canted his head as though listening to something, then peeped a simple song. “No notes missing,” Mei confirmed when the flit resumed his struggles.

Another five ticks. This time when they tested the flit’s reception, he missed two of the notes. “Secondary testing,” Angela said, uncovering a plate of fish. “Indicate when you receive an impression from him?”

Mei stretched out one arm as the flit writhed against Angela’s hold. It was an entire tick before the crafters brow furrowed. “Red,” she reported. “Red hunger.”

“Hm. Try sitting up?”

Mei levered herself up on her elbows, then leaned back into the table. “Mild nausea, vertigo, disorientation,” she said, putting one hand over her eyes. “Ugh.”

Angela covered the plate, which did exactly nothing for the fire lizards insistence on escaping from her arms to investigate it. She tightened her grip and ignored him, checking Mei’s pulse with her other hand. “Pulse is a little elevated, no fever,” Angela dictated as she made her notes. “Try to relax, don’t reach out for Snowball, just breathe,” she said. “We’ll try again in five.”

The course of the experiment was thankfully short. At its peak after fifteen minutes, Mei was only able to communicate a quarter of her pattern to the flit and Snowball’s intense emotions could not reach her at all. He was frantic when Angela finally released him, battering Mei about the face with his wings as he complained and trilled at her. She soothed him, drinking some water while Angela finalized her notes. There were still many questions to be answered, but their most important ones had just been resolved. The venom of the insects was the cause of the separation between Fareeha and her dragon. It could be endured and outlasted with rest and care, but the dragons would need the support of others to not panic and go between when they felt their riders connection slip. 

Mei sat up, holding Snowball cradled in her arms. “We can present our findings tonight,” she said aloud, and Angela was positive she’d drawn the same conclusions.

“And if Zarya blames me for letting you put yourself in danger, you have to stop her before she breaks me in two,” Angela said. They both chuckled as Mei let the blue flit go. Snowball knocked over the plate of fish and dug in enthusiastically.

\-------------

In her months at Overwatch, the only contact Angela had with the hall was through Mei and her brief visit to the vicinity to rescue Fareeha. There had been no call for her to go, especially since so many of the apprentices were former holders who did not want to remain at Overwatch. The riders may have accepted her once and for all, but the holders still avoided her whenever they could. 

Today would be the first time she met the master technocrafter, Satya. Zarya had been fussier than usual about her appearance, insisting that Angela retie her rank knot and dress in her best leathers. It took her time to find them and she was nearly late to the bowl. Caudeth delivered her just in time, the dragons sent to bring the master crafter and her entourage blinking out of between as she stood attentively next to Zarya.

“Fix your jacket,” the weyrwoman murmured as Raptorath and Udjath swept down to the ground to land. Angela gave it a tug, settling the collar to a more presentable angle. She recalled that four days earlier Zarya had accepted a firestone delivery from Telgar in her robe and boots and wondered what it was about the master crafter that demanded so much more formality. 

The woman who descended from Udjath’s back was lean and regal, taller by several inches than Ana. Her travelling cloak draped around her like wings and when she reached up to guide her companion to the ground, Angela could see a flower pattern through the deceptively thin material. She looked like a lady holder, not a crafter who spent her days conducting highly technical experiments underground. 

The harper who accompanied her was familiar-it was the same woman who had glared daggers at the dragonriders when the hold burned. Her hair still had its distinctive braiding and her cloak was of a much more familiar make. She regarded the riders waiting for them with scorn, an expression that vanished into a cheerful smile with the turn of the master crafters head. Angela straightened her shoulders.

Raptorath’s cargo was comparatively light-a single crafter and several crates strapped in behind his passengers. Fareeha disembarked first, reaching up to help the crafter hop down, then undoing the straps on the crates. Angela watched the girl meander over to Raptorath’s head and lean against him, letting him rub his eye ridges on her patched-together flight jacket. In her left hand she held a slate that emitted light from the side facing her. She tapped it with a finger every so often. 

“Master technocrafter Satya,” Zarya said, her tone friendly and calm, nothing like the bluster she adopted with the northerners when they came. “Welcome back.”

The tall woman took slow, measured steps towards them, stopping arms length from the weyrwoman. “Senior weyrwoman Zarya. Junior weyrwoman Angela,” she said, folding her hands in front of herself. “I have brought the supplied you requested. I wish to discuss the defense of the hall.” It was a relief to know the crafters had responded positively to their request for aid. The hold’s tithes had usually been enough to provide for the Weyr’s needs, but since it was destroyed they’d been rationing their stored food and supplies to ensure that holders and weyrfolk alike were able to eat. They were not in dire straits yet, but the longer they were without the crops and beasts the hold had provided, the more strained their shared resources would be. 

The harper stepped up next to her, her gaze fixed intently on Angela. She said nothing, but her expression suggested an extensive litany of epithets she would like to be using at that very moment. Angela deliberately turned away from her, bowing her head to acknowledge the master technocrafter instead. “Please, come with us,” she said, gesturing towards the entrance to the caverns. 

Satya looked in the direction of the gap in the rock, then to Zarya. “I would prefer to fly,” she said flatly to the weyrwoman. 

“Of course,” Zarya said, inclining her head. “Who would you prefer?” 

Satya stepped to the side, putting more distance between herself and Angela. “I will join you on Aleksath,” she stated. Angela glanced at the harper, whose sharp looks had turned to a broad grin. 

“I’ll walk with the junior weyrwoman, we’ve got sooooo much to discuss!” Sombra said perkily, striding towards Angela. “Like where Amelie’s at, y’know?” she said quietly as she passed the goldrider. Angela turned to match her pace, glancing back to Zarya to ensure that walking with the harper was the appropriate action. The weyrwoman was already offering Satya her arm, paying Angela no mind, so she quickened her stride and caught up with Sombra.

“You’ll have to delay any visiting until after we speak about guarding the hall,” Angela said as she drew level with the harper. She did not try to ease the sharpness in her voice.

“Yeah, I have a feeling that’s not going to go your way, especially if you and the ‘hero’ are there,” Sombra replied cheerily. “Satya knows aaaaaall about what happened at the hold.” Her smile turned vicious as they passed into the caverns. “And I mean every little detail.”

Angela frowned. “Including my punishment?” she said, glancing sideways at the harper and finding Sombra watching her in turn.

“Those little lashes? Oh I told her about that.” Sombra peeked into doors as they passed. “And about how immediately afterwards you almost got the wingleader killed too. I’m writing a song about it. I think I might call it ‘Awful Angela of Overwatch.’” She shrugged. “Or something. It’s a working title.”

“Fascinating,” Angela said sarcastically. “I’m certain the holders would love it.”

“I bet they would. They probably need a laugh by now. They’ve been stuck here, nothing to their names, mourning their dead and their homes. Seeing that the result of all of their work and tithing is a bunch of halfwit moon-faced technically-still-dragonriders barely managing to keep things together. Watching you bounce around free as a bird for months.” The harpers sudden shift to seriousness was jarring. “Wrapping the weyrwoman around your little finger, getting the weyrleader tangled up in your...something else.” The snarling smile was back. “They deserve better than seeing you mope for a few days.”

Angela blinked. “If they need anything, they only have to ask us.”

“Sister, what they need, your people won’t give,” Sombra quipped, stepping past Angela and through the door to the meeting room. “Maybe keep that in mind. For later.”

Angela frowned but followed, sitting as far from the harper as she could get in the conference room.

The first thing Angela came to appreciate about master technocrafter Satya was that she got down to business immediately. There was no arrogant chatter or social one-upmanship with her. She began the meeting by laying out maps of the area surrounding the hall, making her own suggestions for the Weyr’s dispersal of force. Her arguments and reasoning were sound and when she didn’t understand Fareeha or Zarya’s suggestions, she questioned them bluntly. After dealing with Lord Gabriel for such a long time, her directness was refreshing. 

The second thing was her brilliance. Once they’d laid out a schedule and plan for the scouting and defense of the hall, they’d smoothly transitioned to a discussion of the planned distribution of replacement limbs to the wounded dragonriders. To Angela’s surprise, the first example provided was Fareeha’s carefully crafted arm for J’Cree, now fully functional with the addition of the technocrafter’s expertise. Satya had displayed considerable understanding of anatomy and physiology while Angela peppered her with questions about the work. It felt like standing with her peers at the healers hall once again, until the master technocrafter abruptly stopped speaking to her directly. There was no missing Sombra’s smirk as Angela seated herself once more.

When they adjourned, it was with an agreement to start aggressive small group sweeps over the hall, as well as scouting missions to identify exactly how close the insects were. Mei and Angela’s work on the venom was set to continue. The hall had promised to provide more supplies from their stores as necessary, until the hold could establish itself once again. Some of the crates that had come with the technocrafters were a small selection of the prosthetics Satya had designed based on Fareeha’s model, ready to be distributed to the riders. Hana, the apprentice they’d brought with them, had been appointed to assist with the assignment of the new prosthetics. Though the master crafter continued to avoid Angela and Sombra would not stop taunting her at every opportunity, they had accomplished quite a bit.

\-------------------

J’Cree held up his arm, studying the newly attached forearm with a growing smile. “Looks pretty sharp,” he said. “You did all that carving?” He was laying on his back on the examination table by Angela’s office, his new prosthetic held up to the light so the healer and technocrafter could see it.

“Are you going to make a big deal about it?” Fareeha stood next to his head as Angela and Hana inspected the device. The arm seemed secure but the digits still hadn't moved. It was clear he was trying to trigger the motion, but the prosthetic wasn’t working.

“You gonna stop me?” J’Cree held out his good arm, failing to defend himself from Fareeha ruffling his hair.

“Brats?” Angela said with a grin, letting Hana shoo her to the side. “We are working. Don’t make me kick you out.”

Fareeha paused, looking up from her determined effort to scrub her knuckles against J’Cree’s scalp. “Sorry Angela,” she said, stepping back.

“Hey!”

“Sorry apprentice Hana,” J’Cree added, holding his arm steady again and smiling at the girl. She rolled her eyes at him. “Will I be able to fly with this on?” He asked Angela. “Or does it stay here?”

“You should leave it at your weyr,” Angela answered. “It can’t take the shocks of flight. But you can wear it while you’re working on the ground.”

“Thanks for the useless hand, Fareeha,” he joked. 

“I’m the weyrleader now. I’m sure I can think of a dozen duties you could undertake with that arm,” Fareeha retorted. She stepped nearer to Hana, brow furrowing as she watched the crafter make adjustments.

The young woman immediately began to narrate. “See this must’ve gotten jerked loose when it was being transported. So we tighten this, secure that linkage…” Angela was glad Fareeha seemed to be understanding, because she was entirely out of her element when it came to the technocrafters work. Her game attempts to follow along thus far had not granted her the knowledge necessary to grasp every concept they discussed, while Fareeha seemed to have taken to it like a duck to water. Part of that was likely the woman’s keen technical mind, but there was also her affection for Hana. According to the brownrider, they had spent their time in the jungle talking about the basics of the technocraft and the mundanities of being a dragonrider. They’d formed a sort of friendship out there and it was apparent as they worked together on J’Cree’s arm. 

Tools passed from broad, long hands to slim, dainty ones. Very unladylike curses were spat. There were sparks and smoke, which did not seem to bother Hana and Fareeha as much as Angela felt they probably should. When one of the fingers on the artificial hand twitched, all three women looked to J’Cree. He was staring at the hand, concentrating fiercely on the digits. The thumb moved, then one by one, each of the fingers, smoothly as real joints and flesh. Angela gripped Hana by the arm, exhilerated by their success.

“How long do these take to make. How soon can we have more?” She asked the crafter. The girl looked to Fareeha, shrugging one shoulder.

“It depends on the injury,” she answered. “Satya moulded parts for everyone we have data on, once she saw how you and Fareeha did it.”

Angela offered her hand to J’Cree, who took it with the prosthetic. His grip was gentle and if it weren’t for the foreign feeling of the material, she would have almost guessed it was his natural limb. “This is amazing,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I can’t wait to show the healers hall what we can do!” 

Fareeha jostled Hana affectionately. “Good work,” she said. The girl rolled her shoulder.

“Now you owe me a favor,” Hana replied dryly. “I accept payment in dragons or marks. Whatever you have.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the weyrleader said with a chuckle. 

\-----------------

There were downsides to riding gold. Bronzeriders, for one. The incredible pressure of leadership. The way a proddy queen woke her rider while the sun was still well under the horizon and demanded a full bath. 

It had been two long, irritating days since Caudeth began showing signs of rising. Her appetite had increased. She was more restless. She made demands of Raptorath and Angela that she never would have considered otherwise. Angela had recognized her insatiable appetites for what they were early on and had sent Fareeha to sleep in an open weyr until the flight began. There were always rumours of sexual intimacy triggering a flight early, the rider losing control of a gold early in her flight, not only letting her gorge but letting her vanish between in her excitement. Angela did not want to take even the smallest risk of not being able to keep her dragon safe and that meant abstaining so she would not influence her dragon to rise out of her control. 

Angela stood in the predawn light, soaked head to toe in sweetsand foam and bath water. Her arms were coated to the wrists in oil and a pile of used rags lay next to her feet. Caudeth posed prettily in the almost-sunrise, her gold tones picking up what light there was to give her a glowing look. Today would be the day. There was no doubt about that.

_I am beautiful,_ the dragon stated, admiring her wing sails. _You are messy._

_Whose fault is that?_ Angela retorted. Caudeth bumped her head into Angela’s chest, giving absolutely no apology for the new smears of oil now soaking into Angela’s clothes. The rider scratched her dragon’s eyeridges fondly. _Are you hungry?_

The response from the dragon was noncommittal. _I want to lie in the sun._

Angela sighed. _Then you should have woken me an hour from now._

_I was itchy._

Stroking the dragon’s hide, Angela smiled. _I’m going to bathe. You go find a spot to sun._

She watched the gold take off and glide to her ledge, looking higher once she’d landed. It was early, yes, but some of the riders were up and about. Raptorath was scratching one shoulder idly on a rock formation halfway up the mountain. One of the greens-in the dark she couldn’t see the shade well enough to identify her-was hanging her upper body off of her ledge, watching the early morning birds as they fluttered past. 

In a weyr just over the entrance to the caverns, she could see two riders sitting side by side with their legs dangling off of the ledge. They were wrapped up in bedfurs, passing a mug between them. Angela nearly raised a hand in greeting before her distracted brain recognized Amelie’s strangely dyed skin and Lena’s mop of windblown hair. They weren’t looking into the bowl, but at one another-Lena at Amelie’s face, Amelie at her own hand, pressed to the great scar on Lena’s chest under the furs. Whatever they were saying was lost in the breeze of the bowl.

Angela nearly reached out to Caudeth to order Lacroith out of the Weyr right this instant, to prevent the lord holder and his accomplices from attempting to interfere with Caudeth’s flight as they had with Aleksath’s, to punish Amelie for directly contravening her order to stay away from the greenrider. She stopped herself when Amelie tucked her legs up under the blanket and leaned her forehead into Lena’s shoulder. The smaller rider set the mug to one side and draped the furs over both of their heads.

Zarya would ground Lacroith, Angela reminded herself, setting her jaw. The Weyrwoman would take care of it. The back of her neck prickled with irritation at the idea of letting Amelie get her way, but Angela only had a very small window of time to make her arrangements for the day. Disciplining the bluerider could be done later. The warmth of the rising sun washed over Caudeth and through Angela as she stepped into the dark or the caverns, making her shiver at the sudden temperature differential. 

The weyrfolk in the womens baths were genial, unused to seeing a goldrider so early in their day. She passed some gossip with them, spotting those were definitely aware of why she was out and about so early-these were the ones who asked after Fareeha and J’Cree and L’Tel. There would be bets placed within the hour, she knew. She’d never participated in the gambling on flights. It always struck her as especially crude. She didn’t feel inclined to stop it at the moment, however. Their collective attention focused on her made her feel regal and strong. Intellectually, she knew it was an echo of Caudeth in her, but the knowledge ultimately didn’t matter. She and the dragon would only become more tightly bound as Caudeth came closer to rising.

She scrubbed herself dry, then walked the halls to her weyr wrapped in only a towel. The riders who passed her addressed her with respect but she felt their eyes on her when they thought she wasn’t looking. Caudeth’s feelings of heat mixed with the pleasing knowledge that Angela was just as much an object of desire. Her hips swayed. She straightened her back. Arriving at her door without seeing one of her potential suitors caused her to pout, but she stepped inside anyway. 

Every queen was different. Every rider made different choices on the day of their flight. Zarya preferred isolation, to prepare herself physically and mentally for the effort of controlling willful Aleksath. At Fort, Caudeths flights had earned Angela a reputation for being uptight and jumpy beforehand, frigid afterwards. She had believed that would always be the case but walking the halls of Overwatch, Caudeth’s growing desires feeding into her own, Angela felt glorious and potent.

She dressed in the clothing she’d chosen in advance-a fitted blue dress with a flowing skirt that showed her knees, with soft, low shoes. Nothing that any dragonrider would normally wear, but today was not a normal day. Her hair was brushed out and left out of its usual tie and she wore no binding or breeches. 

As she made her way to the mess hall, she felt Caudeth’s need growing. If she focused for more than a second she caught the sensation of wings and talons. She would need to eat quickly, then return to her weyr. She made herself ignore the others at their tables as she gathered her plate from the offered food, then took a seat at the edge of the hall. Angela ate her small breakfast alone, focusing on the meal instead of her surroundings. She could feel the eyes of the others on her more than ever now, knowing that this scene would play out in much larger strokes very soon. Her skin crawled with a sudden itch of hide in the sun. Though she was full, her stomach rumbled with phantom hunger.

She stood, not bothering to gather her plate. It was beginning. With quick strides, she headed for the exit, already much too aware of her own pulse. She was so focused on keeping Caudeth on her ledge that she could not avoid colliding with someone in the passage between the mess hall and the corridors.

No. Not just someone.

Leather. Blood. The heavy spice of dragon hide. J’Cree’s scent was intoxicating. Angela gripped his arms, eyes hooded as she felt the tension in his muscles. His false hand rested on her shoulder and she imagined that strange smoothness on her cheek, her throat, her back… She licked her lips and felt Caudeth take the opportunity to fly to the herdbeast pen. _Blood,_ Angela instructed her firmly, clutching at the rider in her grip. He grunted, then said something to her, but she was too focused on Caudeth’s capture of her prey. 

As her dragon blooded, she closed her eyes, feeling the exultation of the boiling, coppery taste in her throat. She felt her dragons hunger and fought it back, forcing her to finish the first beast before snatching another. The stink of its fear was as potently intoxicating as good wine. She breathed deeply as Caudeth buried her teeth in its neck, lapping at the flowing blood. Reveling in the taste, she flinched when J’Cree released her. Her eyes shot open and for a moment she saw both the beast Caudeth was blooding and the rider slowly backing away from her.

She stepped towards him and another body blocked her. She stepped back from Zarya’s bulk, blinking slowly. The weyrwoman was saying her name, taking her arm, moving her along. The contact felt just slightly wrong. Though she let herself be moved, she looked back at J’Cree longingly until they turned the corner out of the mess hall. She mumbled some weak objections, but Zarya rolled her eyes and kept her moving. 

Riders were already clustered outside of her weyr, though they were polite enough to respect the closed door. She looked all of them over as Zarya stopped to open it. Angela reached to graze her fingers over a scarred arm, then the weyrwoman towed her into the weyr. “You waited too long,” Zarya chided, looking over the weyr to be certain Angela had everything she might want put away taken care of . 

“Let them in?” Angela pleaded, pacing a circle in front of the bed. Her eyes closed again, and she felt the wind pick up in the bowl. Her face itched with the drying blood on Caudeth’s hide. Strength surged through her arms and shoulders, tension rising in her neck, then the dragon bugled and leapt into flight. Angela felt her surge of energy and swayed backwards, uncertain if it was the feeling of her dragon’s wings or someone’s arms that made her feel weightless. 

When she opened her eyes, she was seated on her bed, facing a semicircle of riders. In the sky, Caudeth brooked no nonsense. She did not tease-she flew high immediately, the browns trailing behind her. Angela could smell the depth of their need, spice and wind mingling in her mind. Her shoulders flexed and twisted in time with the gold’s maneuvering as she flew towards the rising sun. Sweat prickled along her neck. 

There was always a moment early in Caudeth’s flights where she made some small error and was nearly caught. Today, Angela rode her senses as she misjudged an air current and dipped when she intended to rise. She felt one of the browns try to take advantage, a wingtip nearly making contact, and Angela steeled herself against Caudeth’s immediate impulse to go between. She sent the dragon into a dive instead, evading the capture and giving her space to reclaim her lead. 

The first to peel off and return to the weyr made his choice when Caudeth twisted back on the browns and slipped between them, nearly colliding with a pale dragon who instead spiralled down until he could safely glide back towards the Weyr. Angela offhandedly tried to identify him, recalled only that his name was Neth, then Caudeth felt the sun on her back and roared another challenge. Her rider grinned, and together they rose higher again.

The pace was set. Off and on, Angela opened her eyes, meeting each of her suitors hungry gaze with one of her own. They were as equal in her eyes as their dragons were to Caudeth-their desires mingled with the dragons urge to fly high and far. She did not count the time, only the browns as one by one, they broke off the chase. When only two remained, she opened her eyes again. It was unsurprising to see J’Cree and Fareeha were all that was left,

Caudeth rose in spirals, trailing the males. Angela stood, licking her lips. The gold feinted to one side, then tucked a wing and cut the other way. Angela shrugged one shoulder out of her dress. Eyes whirling red, the gold rose on an updraft, then pushed herself even higher with powerful wingstrokes. The other shoulder of the dress was shed, the fabric held up by one of Angela’s hands. The sun appeared from between the clouds again, pushing Caudeth to her boiling point. The dress fell. The dragon folded her wings and dropped towards her chosen suitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :>


	10. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Gabriel's plan comes to fruition as the dragonriders face their new foe once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> First of all, thank you to everyone who has read so far, whether you commented or left kudos or just experienced this story and went on your way. I appreciate the opportunity to entertain you, and I hope what I've written did at least that. Readers are why writers write, after all!
> 
> Secondly, there are a bunch of warnings up there. **This is the chapter those warnings are about.** This is the final chapter of Gold. Part two of Watching Over The Skies, titled 'Brown', starts next week. I hope you'll still want to read after the end of this part, though it does close on a very dark note and I get it if you need a break or never want to read another word I've written ever again. As always, I will be around to answer questions and be shouted at in the comments section, but you can also hit me up at werejace at gmail if you want your opinion to be more private or if you need to hear some spoilers.

Fareeha cupped Angela’s face, waking her with a morning kiss. Her eyes fluttered, then remained closed. She smiled, feeling Fareeha shuffle the furs around to cover them. They were both nude and while cold was never an issue so close to the sands in the south, old habits died hard. 

“Raptorath is going to get a swelled head,” Angela murmured, draping an arm over Fareeha’s back. “Winning two goldflights in a row.” She felt warm and sated. The flight had been a long one, though she barely remembered details in between the unbearable heat and need she’d been echoed by Caudeth. The day following had also been long, not that she objected.

“Am I double weyrleader now?” Fareeha’s lips wandered down Angela’s neck while she yawned. 

“I’ll ask Zarya.” Angela guided her back up to kiss her again. She drew it out, exulting in the morning after flight euphoria. Fareeha settled between her legs, kissing her bruised lips and nuzzling her neck. Her hands slid into Angela’s hair, toying with the silky strands as their lips slid apart. 

“I don’t think my jacket has room for an extra knot.” Fareeha chuckled into Angela’s shoulder. Her palms smoothed along the goldriders neck and shoulders, then teased the sensitive skin of her elbows. 

“We’ll get you a new jacket. You deserve it. There will be a clutch this time.” As Fareeha’s hands grazed her breasts and her thumbs played along her ribs, Angela raised her knees alongside the other woman’s hips. She blinked her eyes open drowsily, giving Fareeha’s questing fingers room to move between their bodies. Brown eyes met blue as she traced curls and lines along Angela’s hip and thigh. In spite of what had transpired the previous day and in the months and sevendays prior, the brownrider’s eyes darted bashfully away. Colour rose in her cheeks as her fingers sent deep tingles across the muscle of Angela’s stomach, then chased those twinges lower still. 

“He is going to get a swelled head.” Fareeha grinned in agreement as Angela gasped, her hips rocking slowly with the motion of the other woman's hand. It was gentle, tender, and Angela dragged Fareeha’s mouth back to hers when those long, rough fingers slipped inside of her. She couldn’t come up with any more words, not as overwhelmed as she was. Everything was sensation, but much calmer, much slower than the frenetic day of the flight. Now she could savour Fareeha’s lips with kisses that went on forever. Her touch could linger, feel the weight of her breasts and the hard curve of her waist between her thighs. Her hands rubbed along that muscular back, massaging and scratching whenever the other woman’s touch sent a shock through her body. Fareeha’s unbraided hair tickled at her cheeks.

 _Mine?_ Angela had not expected Caudeth to even be conscious, never mind prodding at her so early. Fareeha stroked her hair, bringing her attention back, then kissed her again, her fingers angling deeper. Angela hooked her feet together behind Fareeha’s hips, whimpering in time with her strokes.

 _Just wait,_ Angela replied to the dragon, her chest hitching at a slow change in angle and pressure. “Yes,” she sighed, looking up into Fareeha’s dark eyes again. The brownrider’s smile was bashful, contrasted against the darkness of her cheeks. “You’re so-ah!-gorgeous!” The hand at Fareeha’s back clutched at her shoulder, Angela’s nails scraping across a scar. Her other hand worked along Fareeha’s scalp, gripping her hair by the roots to keep her as close as possible. She spurred her with her heels, each thrust building something deep within her. As overwhelming as the previous day had been, it had been the same as any other flight encounter, built on lust first and foremost. The level of intimacy of this warm morning was different, built as it was from mutual desire and caring.

 _It is urgent. Raptorath's is needed._ Fareeha closed her eyes. Angela was certain she was warding off her own dragon’s interruption. Her inner walls fluttered, a warning to her lover that the end was at hand. Angela’s lips trembled as she was released from a kiss. “Almost,” Fareeha murmured, curling her fingers. That was all that was needed-Angela felt her body clamp down on the other woman’s hand. Fareeha responded by pressing her body down to hold Angela in place as her back arched off of the bed. The goldrider cried into her mouth, writhing with all of her strength against Fareeha’s solid form. Her body pulsed on and on, encouraged by every little touch from the other woman, until she came back to clarity with a final shudder. Fareeha’s body was tight to hers, holding her close as she regained herself. 

“You have to go,” Angela whispered, before kissing her again. She might never get enough of this, and wondered once again why she’d denied herself for so long. She didn’t want Fareeha to leave, wanted to reciprocate what she’d been given, but her dragon’s thoughts were colored by urgency. Caudeth wouldn’t let herself be distracted from her post-flight canoodling unless it was important.

“I know.” Fareeha’s hand rubbed along her back. “But as double weyrleader…” she caught Angela in another kiss, then another and another. Angela grinned into each one, looping an arm around the back of Fareeha’s neck and keeping her close. 

“You’re impossible,” Angela murmured affectionately to her, tracing her fingers along one taut bicep. Perhaps they could have their moment after all.

“Double,” Fareeha said with a chuckle, almost kissing her again. She turned her face to the side just short of Angela’s lips, grunting with dismay. “Eggshells.”

“Hmm?” Angela turned her attention to Fareeha’s hair, finger combing it out of her eyes.

“The scouting patrol found something.”

Angela sighed, nuzzling her cheek. “Then we can continue this later,” she murmured. “Go on, double weyrleader.”

Fareeha rose from the bed reluctantly, picking through their ripped and torn previous days clothes before giving up and digging in Angela’s cupboards instead.

“You’d be very pretty in my Gather dress,” Angela teased from the bed, sitting up slowly to admire the weyrleader as she picked through the limited selection of clothing. 

Fareeha pulled out a chest binding, a shirt and kicked her pants towards her boots. “No time to do my hair,” she commented, splashing some water on her face and body from Angela’s basin. 

Angela watched her dress, grinning at every awkward stumble. “Be well,” she said as the brownrider pulled on her second boot. Fareeha walked to the bed to give her a goodbye kiss, then jogged off to the ledge. 

_Aleksath's wishes to see you, Mine,_ Caudeth said, pouting at the loss of her warm ledgemate. _The creatures have been spotted very close to the hall._

 _I will go immediately,_ Angela replied with an audible sigh.

\-------------

Everything was happening so quickly. A sevenday ago she’d lost the promise of a very lovely morning with Fareeha to scouting reports of an incoming assault on the hall. Now Angela’s head whirled with all of the people calling upon her. Caudeth found the hatching sands too gloomy, so more glow baskets were needed. She had to prep with the other healers for the injuries they expected the dragonriders to take during their assault on the insects. Zarya needed her to help coordinate the firestone distribution point while the other riders were on the attack. The holders were having some sort of illness outbreak and thus had to be quarantined again. The technocrafters who had already been persuaded to evacuate to the Weyr needed her guidance in setting up their equipment. 

She delegated. Lena to deal quickly with the glows, the journeyman healers to prepare the infirmary and check the holders, Ana to the firestone delivery and some volunteer weyrfolk to help the crafters. Angela rushed between all of them, listening to Caudeth for updates on the status of the wing as the prepared for this new battle. The scouts had identified a leading edge of the attackers en route to the hall a day ago and had tracked their progress at a distance since then. The hall evacuation had begun immediately, but progress was slow. They were out of time and only half of what they needed had been moved. 

Zarya was at the hall with J’son, presiding over the last of the evacuation. Fareeha was readying the wing for the day’s battle. They were as prepared as they could be, fortified with new supplies from the north, but still Angela worried. That was her job, while everyone else was off flaming bugs and carrying heavy loads.

 _Raptorath goes,_ Caudeth informed her as she stepped into the infirmary.

 _Tell him to be safe,_ Angela replied, waving one of the healers over to hear his report. _And to take care of His._

_He says His wants you to sleep. And eat._

Angela chuckled and shook her head. _That was for you,_ she told her dragon with a stream of affection.

 _There are too many eggs to sleep._

_Please try._ Angela projected fondness to the gold once again, wishing briefly that she could join her on the sands for a little nap. Though the dragon was exaggerating her discomfort, Angela couldn't chide her for it. An apprentice touched her elbow, drawing her attention back from Caudeth, and she turned to follow him.

There was a rhythm to every battle day and while the enemy had changed, the routine in the infirmary hadn’t. Angela ordered inventory checked and rechecked, bandages boiled, herbal dosages poured. She oversaw every moment of it, setting aside her nervousness as the hour ticked on. When she was certain the healers were about to lose their patience with her, she took her leave, jogging out into the weyrbowl to see that the firestone deliveries were underway. 

There was not a single dragon in the sky when she emerged from the caverns and the silence of the normally bustling bowl was only broken by the sound of herdbeasts lowing. She angled herself towards the marked out patch that Ana had been coordinating, breaking into a sprint when she saw no sign of the retired goldrider or her dragon. _Caudeth? Where is Udjath?_ She disliked waking her resting gold, but a missing rider in such a crucial position was an emergency.

 _Udjath warms herself on the sands,_ was Caudeth's sleepy reply. 

_Where is Hers?_ Ana was not a rider who skived off, especially not in such an important role. Angela’s eyes widened as she drew closer to the heaps, at first wondering why none of the stone was bagged, then skidding to a stop when she realized why.

Every firestone bag had been slashed open and dumped on the ground. There was blood here and there, then a broad drag mark that lead back to the caverns. None of the weyrfolk volunteers were where they should be. _Hers sleeps,_ Caudeth finally answered, as Angela stared into the entrance to the caverns with growing concern. Something had attacked the firestone distribution point and the wing would be needing more soon.

 _Tell Raptorath there is no firestone,_ she said urgently, rushing back into the caverns. _Tell Aleksath's too._

There was no one in the halls between the bowl and the infirmary. Dread built in Angela’s stomach as she raced back to the healers. Had it been the insects? There was no more blood once she was running through the caverns. Was there yet another type of the blasted things, one that carried off its victims whole? She pivoted through the entrance to the infirmary, already bracing herself for another empty room.

The healers looked to her with surprise. They were just as she had left them, sipping klah and arranging bundles of bandages. “No one has brought any wounded here?” She asked, stopping in the centre of the room.

“No,” one of the journeymen looked out into the hallway behind her. “Are there wounded incoming?”

“The firestone crew is gone,” Angela answered, turning back to the hall. “There’s blood. They must be injured.”

“No one’s come,” the journeyman said. “Should we go looking for them?”

“I hear shouting,” an apprentice interrupted, walking towards the door. Angela caught him by the arm and urged him away. The noise had carried to all of them now-a whole mob of people, moving quickly, were a short distance away.

“Wait,” Angela ordered, holding up one hand to the healers. “I will go see what’s going on. Stay here, treat any wounded who come.” She locked eyes with the journeyman until he nodded, then Angela marched out to the hallway. 

It was quiet again as she reached the junction. She had to hold still and listen to hear the footsteps shuffling away from her. Moving as quickly as she dared, she followed them, recognizing the hall leading to the mess hall when she was halfway through it. Beyond that was the junction that would take her to the weyrs she and Zarya occupied and then baths and the hatching grounds. The other direction lead up, to the entrances to the dragonriders’ weyrs, the weyrfolk rooms and the crèche. 

_Is anyone near you?_ She asked her dragon, her heart pounding. 

_Udjath sleeps on the sands. Some are by the door. They see me watching them._

Angela froze mid-step. _Caudeth._ Panic overwhelmed her. _What are they doing?_

There was a pause and Angela thought she might just bolt directly to her dragon, mob or not. _Talking,_ Caudeth finally answered. Worry and confusion came across with her thoughts. _They have knives, Mine. Are the creatures here?_

Angela broke into a run again. _Stay away from them. Do not let them near you,_ she told the gold, her mental voice firm. _Please Caudeth, please stay away from them._

She sprinted past the mess hall and was just turning the corner towards the hatching sands when a broad shape loomed out of the other fork. R’Hardt looped his arm around her waist and dragged her into the darkness of the sloped hall, covering her mouth with his enormous hand.

“Hush,” he warned her, pushing her further up the slope. “What are you doing running around alone, goldrider?” His tone was chiding, just as he always was with her, but he stood like he was expecting a fight at any moment.

“There are people at the entrance to the sands. They have knives,” she told him, immediately trying to walk past him. He put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her in her tracks. “Caudeth is surrounded. I don’t know where Ana or J’son are, I have heard nothing from Zarya or Fareeha. The firestone station has been destroyed. Please, R’Hardt, Caudeth needs me. I don’t know what’s going on!”

“The holders have overwhelmed our folk,” he answered, moving her back towards the upper halls. “And right now they are looking for us. If you go to Caudeth, they will catch you.” 

Angela’s lips thinned. “She needs me.”

“The Weyr needs her and it is much harder to kill a dragon than her rider,” R’Hardt said soberly. 

She was just about to argue when a great mourning keen went up from the hatching sands. For a moment, it felt as though her heart stopped, then Caudeth’s grief washed over her with strong images of Dedeyth. R’Hardt reflexively pulled her against his chest, clapping a hand against her back. She clung to him, tears flowing, at once glad it wasn’t Fareeha and terrified that Raptorath would not be far behind. _Caudeth what is happening? What is going on?_ Her dragon, inconsolable, keened once more.

_There is a blanket between the sands and the outside. It is very dark._

_Keep away from them,_ Angela repeated. 

“We must hide you,” the bronzerider said, keeping an arm around her shoulders as he walked her up towards the high weyrs. 

They had just turned around the bend when a multitude of running footsteps clattered to a halt at the bottom of the slope. “Someone up there?” An unfamiliar voice called. 

R’Hardt pushed her up further. “I am. R’Hardt of bronze Wilheth.” His voice did not sound as cheerful as he usually did. “Who’s that then?”

Angela walked as quietly as she could towards the curve at the top of the steps, then stopped, uncertain. Whose weyr could she hide in? 

“Piotr of Talon Hold. Why aren’t you fighting the insects?”

“Wilheth doesn’t have the oomph for it anymore, sad to say!” Angela crept towards the first door she could find, trying to push it open and having no luck. “Quite a few knives you lads have there. Tunnel snakes been pestering you?” She shoved on the next door, and the next.

“You will have to come with us, dragonrider. We don’t want to hurt you. In Lord Gabriel’s name, we are taking over this Weyr.” 

R’Hardt’s laugh boomed. Another door failed to open for Angela. “You’re joking, man! You’re holders! What do you lot know about running a Weyr!”

“More than you,” a woman shouted. “Can’t be any worse, you leech!”

“Just come with us, rider,” Piotr said again. 

“And what about my dragon, eh? Who’ll give him his baths and check his hide?” 

Angela leaned her shoulder into another door and felt it move slightly.

“Lord Gabriel will decide once everything has settled,” Piotr declared. 

R’Hardt chuckled. Angela pushed. The door scraped along the floor as it opened, far too loud to be concealed by R’Hardt’s boisterous laughter. Angela froze, one hand clamped over her mouth in panic.

“Who’s up there?” 

Feet slapped on stone and R’Hardt bellowed at the onrushing crowd. Angela scrambled into the weyr she’d opened, knocking over a glow basket as she searched for any way to defend herself. A few seconds felt like an eternity until she knocked some papers off of the desk, uncovering a knife. She grabbed it, turning and rushing for the sloped stairs. 

When she whipped around the bend, she found R’Hardt still blocking the steps, pushing back flailing arms and wrenching blades free when he could grab them. Several were scattered on the steps at his back and she stepped gingerly around them. “GET AWAY!” Angela ordered, standing behind and above him. He surged forward, tossing the holders back into their fellows.

“What are you doing, girl?” He shouted at her. “I told you to run!” It was too late. She saw rage, hate and disgust twist the faces of the holders who spotted her.

“There she is!”

“The one who burned the hold!”

She held up her hands, dropping the knife. “Please! Please stop! We don’t want to hurt anyone!”

“Then come with us and face true justice!” Piotr, a younger man with a pockmarked face, pushed back to the front of the crowd. “You’re the reason our homes burned! You’re the reason we’re stuck in this amoral pit! You devour our tithes to fuel your unnatural desires! You take our children and brainwash them! You lord your power over us and expect us to obey you for a rank you achieved by luck!”

Angela kept her hands raised. “Please stop this. Go back to your living space. We will discuss this once the wing has returned from the hall. Please.”

“Nothing will be done!” The voice was young, and its owner shoved her way through the crowd. She held a knife in front of her, waving it at the dragonriders. “Nothing is ever done! My uncle died in the fires! My brother, my sisters!”

“I’m sorry,” Angela said, shaking her head. “I am so sorry for your loss. But this is not the way to resolve what happened.”

“That’s not enough!” The girl threw her knife at Angela. It spun wide and R’Hardt lunged to catch her before she could throw another.

Angela saw his back tense and the girl made a shrill gasping sound. She reeled back from him, holding up hands covered in freshly spilled blood. R’Hardt coughed. The holders recoiled.

“Oh no,” Angela breathed, dashing down the steps. “No. R’Hardt, no!” She let him lean his bulk on her, guiding him down to the steps. “Get a stretcher!” She shouted over her shoulder, lifting his arm to get a better look at the knife buried in his side. “Oh no.” The holders stared at her, her hands already moving across R’Hardt’s body to check vital signs. “HURRY,” she snapped at them, two fingers on R’Hardt’s pulse, the other hand probing the area around the wound. His palm grasped at her shoulder and she forced an unconvincing smile for him. “I’ve got you,” she whispered. _Tell Raptorath not to return,_ she told Caudeth. _Tell Morth and Aleksath to stay far away. Tell them to go north. Anywhere but here. They’ve hurt R’Hardt and Ana, they've trapped us, and I don’t think they will stop._

She counted out heartbeats, keeping firm pressure on the wound. _Raptorath says they will go,_ Caudeth said quietly. The holders still hadn't moved, aside from one woman folding the bloody girl in her arms and sobbing with her. “A STRETCHER. NOW,” Angela snarled. “He needs to get to the infirmary or he will die!” That finally seemed to shock them out of it. Two men rushed away, returning with a stretcher moments later. She directed them on how to load him and lift him, maintaining her pressure as they rushed to the infirmary.

The work was a blur. The moment R’Hardt was on her table she knew she was already losing the race to save him. She pushed all of her panic and all of her worry down to her toes, until she had R’Hardt’s heart beating steadily and his breathing constant. Had it been minutes or hours? She couldn’t tell. She knew as she stepped away from R’Hardt that she was already a prisoner, that his life might be the last she'd have a chance to save for some time. The sight of Lord Gabriel in the infirmary entrance confirmed it. Angela straightened her back, arms and chest spattered with her friend’s blood, and stared at him. 

“Where is Ana?” She demanded, amazed at how stern she still sounded. 

“Safe,” Lord Gabriel answered. “So are you.”

Angela picked up a cloth, wiping the blood from her hands. “You sent people with knives to the sands. You put up a barricade to hold Caudeth inside. That does not feel safe to me.”

He tipped his head side to side. “You will be safe as long as you cooperate.”

Angela glared. “I warned the others.”

Gabriel nodded. “We knew one of you would. But there is a gold heavy with eggs on the sands. They’ll come, sooner or later. They have to.”

R’Hardt took a shaky breath and Angela turned to pull the furs up over his chest.

“No more threats or demands?” Lord Gabriel took a step into the infirmary and she straightened again, shooting him a warning look.

“You have a winning hand, Lord Gabriel. A harper, a dragonrider and a whole hold of people at your beck and call, thirsty for some unformed sense of justice even if it has to flow from the necks of dragons and their riders. The weyrfolk have already been driven back. The only other rider here may not survive the night. My dragon is trapped. I can’t run from you or fight you. I’m just one woman and I will not endanger my dragon or her eggs for some foolish escape attempt. All I want to know is why.”

“Because of your arrogance, dragonrider. Because of the demands you lay on my people, for their tithes, their good nature and very soon, those of their children you can corrupt to your own ends. Dragonriders who earn their position in a stroke of good fortune shouldn’t determine the fates of every person on Pern, something you should be very well aware of, Healer. You are a defense force, not our untouchable rulers and as such you should conduct yourself with more conscientiousness than a pack of spoiled teenagers. I intend to guide that change,” Lord Gabriel replied. “Someone will bring you some clothing and washing supplies. Your office should be a fine bedchamber, since you won’t be having any visitors.”

“I need to see Caudeth.”

“When we hear from the wing,” Lord Gabriel replied. “Get comfortable, goldrider.”

\-------------

Angela sat next to R’Hardt, one giant hand in both of hers. She could feel him slipping away with every tick and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She ran through his injuries in her mind again, the cuts to his organs, the massive quantity of blood. Possible remedies had to be set by the wayside-there were no riders to send elsewhere for medicine or aid. She had already expended every resource at her disposal. Her chest tightened and for the hundredth time she forced her tears away.

 _Have they said anything?_ She asked Caudeth, stroking R’Hardt’s arm. 

_No._ A pause. _Wilheth knows His is dying._

Angela shuddered, choking back on a sob. _I could save him if we could fly._

 _Wilheth would fly. But we cannot leave._

Angela squeezed R’Hardt’s hand tighter. _I know he would. I’m sorry Caudeth._

_The eggs are growing._

Angela closed her eyes and bowed her head. _How many?_

_I do not know. I think one will be a queen._

Angela sighed. _Not from a brown, my love._

_A queen egg feels different,_ Caudeth insisted. 

R’Hardt’s hand twitched in hers. Angela bolted upright, one hand immediately checking his pulse. It was thready and weak. His hand twitched again, and she squeezed it harder. “Fight. Please fight,” she murmured. “Please R’Hardt, I need you.”

His eyes fluttered. She held his hand in both of hers, brought it to her face, kissed his fingers, whispered his name. His breathing hitched once. Twice. The third was a long, final wheeze, and Angela could not suppress her tears anymore. They came in a great torrent as she collapsed back into her chair, her shoulders heaving with sobs. 

In the distance, Caudeth keened.  


\-------------

_Mine._

Angela blinked out of a dead sleep, her whole body shaking. _Are they coming? Is it Raptorath? Aleksath?_ She was in her office, dozing in her chair wedged against the door. At the other end of the room, R’Hardt’s body, washed and wrapped, had been set on her desk. She looked at it, the shivers taking over momentarily, then she turned away.

_Udjath says Hers is near you._

Angela pushed the chair to one side, cracking the door and peering out into the infirmary. Several of the healers were gathered around a cot. Holders in stolen guard armor stood at each end, more of them by the entrance. Bloody sheets covered patients on two other beds. “Who is it?” She called to the healers. 

An apprentice turned back to her. “Ana of Udjath,” she answered, frowning when a journeyman shushed her. 

“She’s alive?”

The apprentice separated from the rest, coming closer to the office. One of the guards approached with her. “She is sedated, Weyrwoman. She...was sedated before, but she regained consciousness. Four of the holders are nearly dead. It was terrible.”

Angela forced herself not to snap, though it took considerable effort with R’Hardt’s body so close behind her. How dare anyone mourn the holders who had participated in this rebellion? Two dragonriders were dead. “How many wounded?”

The apprentice shook her head. “Six. We’re still taking knives out of her clothing. She has so many…”

Angela looked past her, to the sliver of Ana’s face that she could see. The old woman slept uneasily, her face a constant frown. Angela wished she could sit at her side and thank her for being the weyrwoman Angela wasn't. She hoped there would be time for that later. 

“You are to stay in your office,” the guard who stood with the apprentice said. “Lord Gabriel’s-”

The door was shut before he could finish the sentence. 

\-------------

Sleep came and went. Angela woke to knocking on the door several times, but did not answer. She had no idea of the time, only that it hadn’t quite been a day when Caudeth woke her with a flood of relief. _Raptorath,_ she said when she knew Angela was conscious. Angela almost fell out of the chair. 

_Where?_ She shoved the chair to the side, ran her fingers through her hair and yanked the door open. 

_He comes to the bowl._

Angela looked at the healers, who had gathered in the opposite corner of the infirmary. One of them seemed about to say something, but she paused when the goldrider fixed her with a furious glare. “I am leaving,” Angela said, letting the door fall shut behind her. “No one touches him.” The group exchanged a look, but none of them moved as Angela stormed past them, turning down the corridor. 

There were guards, of course. They chased after her and she elbowed the first one to touch her so hard that she broke his nose. Hours ago, she might have apologized. She would have at least paused. She had reached the limit of her temperance. The time for kindness and mercy would come once the Weyr belonged to the dragonriders again, when there were no longer holders with butcher knives threatening her dragon. One of the guards jogged in her wake, uncertainly calling out to her at every junction in case that would be the moment she reconsidered. 

She reached the corridor that would lead her to the bowl and stopped. Amelie stood at the far end, framed in sunlight. She faced Angela, her armor intact, braid hanging over her shoulder. A depth of hatred Angela didn’t even know she was capable of boiled through her-she shook with the suddenness of it, her hands clenching to fists. 

“They can’t save you,” Amelie purred. “Walk out with me, negotiate with the wing, and no more blood need be shed.”

“You TRAITOR,” Angela seethed. “You side with THEM? They have murdered a dragonrider, and sabotaged the wing!” She strode the length of the hallway, not even certain what she intended to do when she reached Amelie.

“An impulsive child stabbed an old man. She has already been imprisoned and she will meet a proper court, with a proper judge. When the hold burned, almost a hundred died. Ana nearly murdered four holders mere hours ago. You truly believe you have the moral high ground? Why should I side with you? Dragonriders do not care for the pain of holdfolk, or of anyone who doesn’t look or act like a perfect specimen.” Amelie took a step back nonetheless. “Do you think each of your hundred lashes mimicked the depth of pain of those who lost their families and homes? Do you think that was justice, Angela?”

“I think that murder is murder,” Angela snapped back, closing in on Amelie. “And murdering in the name of justice is a spiral that never ends. I believe that this treason has nothing to do with punishment, and everything to do with Lord Gabriel’s endless lust for power!” Amelie stepped out of the corridor and into the bowl, Angela following after her. 

“You may be right.” Lord Gabriel’s voice was far too close but when Angela turned, all she could see was the broad end of some kind of weapon. It shone brightly in her eye and she flinched back. “But you are also too late.”

Amelie’s hands locked around Angela’s upper arms, holding her firmly in front of the weapon. She gritted her teeth and struggled, but the bluerider was too strong. The pair marched her out into the bowl, the hard metal of the weapon pushed right against her ear. She could feel heat, but there was no sharpness or scent to suggest what the thing would do to her.

Lacroith waited ahead of them, standing between the hostage weyrwoman and the wing. Past the blotchy blue, she could see exhausted, wounded dragonmen and women clustered behind Fareeha and Zarya. The weyrwoman and weyleader were bloodied and cut-Angela could pick out dozens of wounds on each of them, even at a distance. When they recognized her, Fareeha threw down her helmet and Zarya took a step forward.

“What are you doing, Lord Holder?” Zarya barked. Aleksath rumbled behind her, stalking to the fore of the dragons arrayed behind their riders. “Let her go and we will negotiate your terms.”

Lord Gabriel chuckled. “If I let her go, your beast will scorch me to cinders.”

“No dragon would burn a man,” Zarya answered. “This is mad. Release Angela, Ana and J’son. Tell your harper to reopen the hall. We will take you and your people to any hold, any hall you want.”

“I would prefer a Weyr.” Lord Gabriel shoved Angela forward with the weapon, beginning a brief struggle between she and Amelie. “And if I am not mistaken, a dragon will not abandon her eggs. Even if her rider dies?”

“Scorch it, Lord Gabriel, let her go!” Fareeha shouted. “What do you want? What can we give you?”

“I told you. A Weyr. This one. And dragonriders to go with it,” Lord Gabriel answered. “No more relying on you degenerates for protection. No more allowing you to choose the candidates you think you can mold to your purposes. We will put good, strong, loyal men on dragons to defend ourselves from Thread. From anything that threatens us. Others will join us. It will be a new Pern, without the holds subservient to undeserving Weyrs.” Angela tried to shove herself back against Amelie, anything to get the bright light at the front of the weapon pointed somewhere other than her head, but Lord Gabriel’s hand was steady. Zarya was just about to speak again, when a loud whoop sounded overhead.

To Angela it was as though time slowed. She saw Oxtoth blink out of between at an insane speed, skimming just above the surface of the weyrbowl. The green was heading right for her-she could count the freckles on Lena’s cheeks. She wrenched her arm free of Amelie’s grip and flung it out to grab at Lena’s straps. 

There was a sound like the wail of a child. The pressure at the side of Angela’s head vanished and a light that was almost blinding exploded out of the weapon the Lord Holder wielded. It was not directed at Angela, but at the greenrider. Blood sprayed from Lena’s throat as a beam of light burned through her neck protection and the flesh underneath. Angela’s fingers brushed her glove. She looked up into an expression of horrified shock, then the rider and dragon were gone between. 

This time the sound the dragons made was not a keen. It was a scream of rage and grief, exploding from the wing like a damned chorus. Angela felt Amelie’s hand go slack on her arm, but she felt leaden, as though her soul was dragging her down to the ground. Instead of struggling to escape, she leaned back against the bluerider, listening to her dragon cry out for Oxtoth with all of the others. Amelie's body shook violently behind her, though she made no sound.

“It is over,” Lord Gabriel intoned as the cacophony wound down. He gripped Angela by the back of the neck, wrenching her out of Amelie’s unresisting hands. “You have a day to mourn. Then all of you answer to me. Anyone who steps out of line shares her fate.” 

There was no response from the riders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much, SO MUCH, for reading my story. Part two, Brown, begins on January 2, and I hope you lovely folks will join me for the continuation of this story.

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is basically a spontaneous NaNoWriMo, inspired by the numerous fantastic wlw artists and writers in the Overwatch fandom here and on Tumblr. It is dedicated to them, and to my lovely proofreader and wife-type-lady, Dee. I hope you've enjoyed my work and I hope you come back for later chapters!


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